


Seaweed in Indiana Sawgrass

by thickskeleton



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative fashion Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan’s school of truckcraft and thottery, Charles Smith all American boy, Found Family, Homophobia, I'm not gonna lie to you this gets pretty heavy at points, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, John Marston is a twerp, M/M, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Some pretty intense homophobia at points, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, but the ending is so happy it'll rot your teeth I promise, gratuitous sibling bonding, idk how to tag this but I fucked with their ages, im putting that boy in a crop top and no one can stop me, it’s the 90s baybee, smut later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thickskeleton/pseuds/thickskeleton
Summary: “Arthur had barely been here a month, but he thought that sound would stick with him all his life - the slamming of the screen door, bringing with it the thick, sweet scent of the woods in summertime and the feeling of the sun on his face.”Arthur Morgan spends the summer in Bushkill, Pennsylvania with his Uncle Hosea and kid brother John.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 11
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A love letter to Appalachia and everyone who has ever had to wrench themselves away from a manipulative parent.

Arthur kicked his feet up against the seat in front of him and settled in again. The Greyhound bus he was on was just leaving it's final rest stop before his destination: Bushkill, Pennsylvania. Of the eight hour ride, he'd spent close to six with nothing to look at but hills and hills of forest. The foliage was green and lush in the wet summer heat and, although it was beautiful, Arthur didn't know how many more trees he could sketch before he lost his mind. He was the only person still on the bus, most of the passengers having gotten off in Philadelphia. Bushkill wasn't exactly what Arthur would call a popular getaway. He'd had to wait a week just for a Greyhound that would take him there. He flicked the case of his zippo lighter open and then closed again, a sharp _snap._ With every every moment that passed between pockets of civilization, he felt a little more trapped. Already, Arthur missed his cot, his friends, and the hotdogs they sold in the Strip. He missed the city. 

For probably the fortieth time that day, he took out the 1980 Ford f150 build manual and thumbed through it. His notes covered the margins and and blank pages, full of small details and lists. Hosea had promised him that if he could fix up the truck he had sitting on his property, he could have it. That truck was what had finally gotten Arthur to agree to go out there at all. It was olive green with a neat little bumble bee fixture on the front of the hood, or so Hosea said. Arthur had big plans for it. He could already picture it: Javier in the passenger seat, Tilly squeezed between them, and Sean and Karen carrying on in the bed. He didn't know too much about cars, not yet anyway, but he was confident. He figured he'd be driving it home to Pittsburgh in no time. 

The bus ungracefully lurched to a stop and roused Arthur from his daydream. Outside his window was the bus stop and something they were calling a "visitor's center." It was little more than a billboard with a few flyers stuck to it. At the top was a worn out wooden sign that read "Bushkill." Arthur sighed and grabbed his bags. 

Hosea was waiting exactly where he'd said he would: across the street in the library parking lot. The library itself was in a huge, stone building that it seemed to be sharing with the _Reformed Church of Bushkill_. There were a couple of other establishments - a gas station, a grocery store, a coffee shop, a mechanic - but not much else. At the center of it all was a strange clocktower, looming ten feet tall over the small grassy knoll and benches around it.

"Arthur!" Hosea embraced him as soon as he approached the car. Arthur was surprised to find that he had grown taller than him since they'd last seen each other. But he still smelled the same - clean linen and sandalwood. Arthur inhaled deeply.   
  
"Hey Hosea."   
  
Hosea took a step back and seized Arthur's shoulders, looking him over. Arthur had been letting his hair grow out and it reached the nape of his neck now, blond and uneven. He wore small, silver hoops in his ears and had a bit of leftover eyeliner at his waterline that he was very unaware of. In the summer heat, he wore his Rage Against the Machine shirt over a pair of jean shorts, both of which had seen better days. His black doc marten boots were heavily worn in, leather faded around the shape of his foot.   
  
" _What_ do they put in that tap water? You're a behemoth!"   
  
Arthur rolled his eyes. The graying man opposite him wore a white work shirt tucked into jeans, and his face was softened with a few age lines.   
  
"Ain't you meant to be watchin' that kid?"   
  
" _That kid_ as in your brother John? Yes, he's back at the house with a neighbor. Thought you might want to ease into this."   
  
Arthur nodded, grateful. "He's ten now right?"  
  
"Eleven and an absolute tornado," Hosea sighed, opening the trunk for Arthur's suitcase and book bag. He got into the passenger seat of the Dodge Aspen and the sun soaked leather burned the back of his thighs. "So, I hardly need to give you the tour, do I? You've seen it all."  
  
"I only seen these couple stores," he motioned out the window to the Turkey Hill Mini Mart they were now passing. Hosea nodded. "Oh, you're joking."  
  
Hosea laughed, glancing over at him as they pulled out, "It's a small exaggeration." 

Susan's Diner was expectedly quiet, with only a few other patrons seated at the bar. The owner, Susan, had graying brown hair tied back severely into a bun and wore her pink uniform with white nursing shoes. She showed them to a booth at the far end of the restaurant, which had to be a remodeled trailer.  
  
Hosea pushed the menu to Arthur without looking at it. "How was the bus ride?"   
  
"Long and dull. Y'all got anything besides trees out here?"  
  
"We got rivers, too."   
  
"Fascinatin'." Arthur ordered pierogis with sauerkraut from their young waitress.   
  
"I'll have the same, thank you Mary-Beth." Hosea smiled at her before looking back to Arthur. "How's Dutch?"

The age old question. Arthur thought it was possible that he'd been asked "how's Dutch?" more times than he'd been asked "how are you?"

"Alright," Arthur shrugged, fiddling with the fraying plastic edge of the menu. "You know, still in it."  
  
"And you?" Arthur averted his gaze. Outside, a blind man sat on the curb with a heavy black coat on despite the heat.   
  
"Little bit, ya know. Gotta be a little bit."  
  
"You can't get a regular job?" Hosea asked, just as he did every time they had this conversation.   
  
"Need more money than I'd get flippin' burgers. Plus, Dutch needs my help sometimes."  
  
Hosea nodded, feigning understanding. "I'm glad you decided to come out here, Arthur."  
  
"Yeah, well, I appreciate you lettin' me do this. Havin' a car will make things a lot easier."  
  
"Of course. It's just been sitting out there anyway. John pretending to drive it is the most action its seen in years."

Arthur chuckled picturing that. John's wide, gap toothed grin, spinning the wheel erratically.   
  
"How is he?"  
  
"He's good. Wasn't thrilled when we first got here but he's made some friends and he really tries in school. Turns out he's dyslexic, that's why he had such a hard time learning to read."  
  
He remembered Dutch trying to teach John to read like he'd taught Arthur and getting wildly frustrated every time they sat down together. Arthur tried to step up and help him, but he wasn't around consistently enough to really make an impact. "What's that now?"  
  
"Dyslexia? It's when the letters kinda get jumbled around when you're trying to read."  
  
"Mm. Yeah, that makes sense."  
  
"It's easier now, knowing. We got him a special teacher and it's a lot better for him."

Arthur smiled. He'd known it was the best thing for John to go live with Hosea, but it was good to see that was true. "That's good. Uh, ya know I really appreciate...I mean I just always wanted to say..." Hosea waited patiently while Arthur stumbled over his words. There had never been any pressure in his gaze, and there still wasn't then.  
"Thank you. For taking John, I mean. It's what he needed."  
  
Hosea smiled at him a little sadly and nodded, turning towards the plate of pierogis they'd just been served. "Thank you, Pearson. This is my nephew Arthur, he's going to be staying at the house for a few months."  
  
" _Months?_ " Arthur scoffed, "Don't know it'll take that long."   
  
"Humor me, Arthur. This is Simon Pearson."  
  
The cook was tall and gruff and greasy, and shook his hand heartily. "Good to meet you, Arthur. Hope you brought something to entertain yourself."  
If he looked at Arthur's appearance a little strangely, he didn't hold it against him. He did stick out like a sore thumb.  
  
"Plenty here for him to do, don't fret."

It was dark when they drove to the house. The town had grown somehow sleepier, the few street lights struggling to flicker on above them. Hosea sang along to some _Grateful Dead_ song on the radio and Arthur couldn't help but to mumble along with him. He'd missed this more than he had realized. Many of his summer memories sounded like Hosea's quiet singing and warm air whipping through car windows. 

The song drifted off as they pulled down a gravel driveway off the backroad. The small, wooden house was certainly worn, but it looked enticingly homey. The door hung open, only the screen protecting against the colony of moths that had congregated around the green hue of the porch light. To the left was forest, but to the right he could see where the back porch stretched out over Bushkill Creek. Stilts held it up over the gully where the water must swell to in heavy rain. In the open grass close to the house was the truck. Arthur was stepping out of the car before it fully stopped, jogging up to it.   
  
"Thought you said it was olive," he called over his shoulder. It was a lot muddier of a green than any olive.   
  
"Color is subjective!" Hosea yelled back. Before Arthur could get a better look at it, the screen door was slamming open and a pair of small feet were sprinting towards him.   
  
"Arthur!" John screamed. He barely had time to turn around before John was launching his entire body up at him. Arthur grunted at the force of it but then he was laughing and holding his little brother in a tight embrace.  
  
"Damn, Johnny! You're heavier than I remember."   
  
"Uncle Hosea says I'm a growing boy," he said without lifting his head from Arthur's shoulder.   
  
"Well he's right 'bout that. C'mon now, get offa me."   
  
Instead of doing this, John used his torso like a jungle gym and scrambled over his shoulder. After a couple of pointy limbs hit him in the face, John settled onto his back. "Jesus. Comfortable?"   
  
"Yup. Bring me anything good?"  
  
Arthur laughed and walked back towards Hosea, who was standing on the porch with Arthur's bags. He was smiling so widely at the sight of the two boys that Arthur had to look away. Some distant part of him felt like he had just stepped into a memory that had been waiting for him for a long time. 

The bait shop made up most of the front part of the house. A glass counter held an array of lures and equipment. Rods of every kind lined the back wall and there was a large fridge that he assumed was for live bait. Behind the counter sat a smaller, older man in a day suit and a bowler hat. He closed his book and stood when they entered.   
  
"Leopold, this is my nephew Arthur. Arthur, this is Leopold Strauss. He works at the credit union and sometimes as my sitter."  
  
"He sure sits alright!" John exclaimed from Arthur's back. Hosea tutted but Leopold seemed unfazed.   
  
"Arthur," he said and shook his hand before nodding at Hosea and leaving.   
  
"Not much of a talker," Arthur wondered around the bait shop, having grown accustomed to John's weight on him at that point.   
  
"Not much of an anything-er!" John complained.   
  
"He's not here to entertain you John. He's here to make sure you don't catch the place on fire again."  
  
"Again?" Arthur asked, and followed Hosea into the main house. It was cluttered but clean, with no walls separating the kitchen from the living room. John's homework was spread out over the dining room table that sat between the two areas, and the TV was turned to Cartoon Network.   
  
"John," Hosea began in a scolding tone, "did you finish your - ?"  
  
"I'll show Arthur his room!" he shouted, suddenly finding his legs and falling from Arthur. He had barely gotten a good look at him yet and just watched as the flurry of limbs and brown hair disappeared down the hall.   
  
"See? A whirlwind," Hosea sighed, glancing down through the papers, but his tone was fond.   
  
"Thought he'd be done with school by now."  
  
"Summer school, three days a week."  
  
"Bet he's thrilled about that."  
  
Hosea shrugged. "He has to practice with his reading or he'll fall even farther behind."  
  
"Arthur!" John screeched and Arthur rolled his eyes before trailing after him. It was going to be a long summer.

The back hall held the rest of the house - the bathroom and three bedrooms. Arthur's room was mostly bare except for a desk, a few cardboard boxes labelled "winter," and a dresser.   
  
"You can sleep here," John said, flopping onto the bed that sat under a large window. Outside, the river trailed away eternally into the woods.  
  
"Figured." He took a seat next to him and pulled open his book bag. John had grown tremendously in the two years since Arthur had seen him last. His limbs had gotten long and thin and his face had taken on a sharp chin. His hair was shorter than he'd ever worn it before - still long enough to be messy under his fishing hat. His bare, dirty feet dangled off the bed and when he looked up, Arthur noticed he must've broken his nose at some point.   
  
"So, what'd ya bring me?"   
  
"Gettin' there," Arthur said, digging through his bag. He pulled out his journal, a pack of cigarettes, a flannel, and the build manual before he found the little rectangle wrapped in newspaper. John ripped it open eagerly and gasped at the yellow device.   
  
"A walkman! I've been wanting one of these!" Arthur smiled and gave him the tapes he'd managed to find. "How did you get this? Aren't they expensive?"   
  
"Saved up for it," Arthur said after a moment of hesitation, and showed John how all the buttons worked. His eyelids had started to droop when Hosea knocked on the door.   
  
"Come on now John, it's way past your bedtime."  
  
"But Hosea," he whined, falling dramatically back against the bed, "I wanna play with my new walkman."   
  
Hosea's eyes flickered briefly to Arthur, questioning. Arthur shrugged.   
"Well it'll still be new in the morning."  
  
John grumbled but ultimately got up to follow Hosea out. Before he went, he wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck in an unexpected embrace.   
  
"Thanks, Artie. Love you."   
  
Arthur was stunned for a moment before he hugged him back. "You welcome, Johnny. Love you." 

Hosea lingered in the doorway after John went to his room, clutching the tape player to his chest. "Somebody looking for that?" he whispered seriously.   
  
Arthur ducked his head, suddenly ashamed. "Scratched the serial numbers off."   
  
If Hosea was disappointed by the response he did not show it. "Be needing your help first thing tomorrow."   
  
"Sure."  
  
"There's a phone in the shop if you need it."  
  
"Alright. Thank you."  
  
"Goodnight, Arthur."  
  
"Night Hosea."

The door closed softly and he heard him talking to John in the next room. Arthur dumped the contents of his book bag haphazardly over the desk and sifted through it. He found his gun and knife and tucked them carefully into the hidden pocket of his suitcase. He didn't see the point in moving in beyond his toiletries, so after he washed up in the bathroom Arthur wondered back out to the bait shop. As promised, the landline sat behind the counter on the wall. Dutch picked up on the third ring.   
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's me, Dutch."  
  
"Oh, Arthur," his voice softened. "You get there alright then?"  
  
"Mhm."

"How's John? Hosea?"  
  
"They're both good. You should see this little shack they're set up in. Didn't know you could get this backwoods."   
  
Dutch laughed. "Yeah, figured it was some kind of white trash setup."  
  
"Well I ain't say that - ."  
  
"How's the car?"  
  
"Don't know yet, just got here."  
  
"Of course, of course. We just miss you already! Have people asking after you."  
  
"Who?" he asked quickly, hoping he could talk to Javier or Tilly.   
  
"Clyde mostly. Came skulking around this afternoon."  
  
"Oh," Arthur deflated. "Well, tell Javier to call me alright?"  
  
"Sure, I'll give them the number. How long do you think this is gonna take?"  
  
"Ain't sure yet. Still gotta look a the truck. No more than a few weeks, I'm sure."  
  
"Alright, well give Hosea my best."  
  
"And John?"

"Yeah, of course, John too. I need to go now though."  
  
"Oh, yeah, sure. Be talkin' to ya - ."  
  
The phone line clicked off before he could finish his sentence. 

* * *

A sharp pounding on his door woke Arthur abruptly the next morning. He merely groaned, but Hosea walked in anyway. "Come on now, your breakfast is getting cold."  
  
"Hosea please," Arthur begged from under his blanket.  
  
"What does 'first thing' mean to you?"  
  
Before he could respond, sixty something pounds of tween catapulted onto him. "Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!" John yelled, grabbing at the blanket.  
  
"Fuck off you little rat," he growled and tried to turn away, but then the blanket was fully ripped off him. Only clothed in his boxers, Arthur curled in on himself to try and contain his body heat.   
"I'm _coming,_ alright? Fuck," he huffed, sitting up. He pulled on a shirt and followed the pair out to the kitchen. John's mouth was going a mile a minute, but Arthur only caught about half of his words as he sipped on the coffee Hosea poured for him.   
  
" - and _then_ Lenny jumped right in but there was still ice!"   
  
"Wow," he said, brain still in bed. "What is it you need me for so goddamn early?"  
  
"I have some work for you this summer."   
  
"Thought I was mean to be working on the truck."  
  
"Yeah yeah, you'll have plenty of time to do that too."   
  
Arthur sighed and ate the bacon and eggs in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had woken him up at a reasonable hour with breakfast, but it had probably been Hosea then too. 

At eight, a car came to pick up John for school and another pulled into the driveway. In anticipation of a day of manual labor, Arthur had on jean shorts, a black cropped t-shirt that had the Creature from the Black Lagoon on it, and his sneakers. He'd tied his hair back as best he could but a few strands still fell into this face and you could just make out the bottom of his anvil stomach tattoo. Hosea was inside scrambling to get John's stuff together while Arthur sat on the edge of the porch, dangling his feet down over the side and smoking a cigarette. From the black pick up truck that had pulled into the driveway, Arthur watched a Native man get out. His long, black hair was shaved on the sides and braided back away from his face. His purple jersey was sleeveless and exposed his muscular arms. He wore black athletic shorts and, a departure from the rest of his outfit, a pair of work boots. Arthur watched him approach.   
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"You Arthur?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"I'm Charles."  
  
Charles had to be 6'4 at least. He had eyes so dark that Arthur could barely tell where his pupils began, full lips, and a wide set nose. Arthur took a drag of his cigarette. "Nice to meet ya, Charles."   
  
He looked from Arthur's exposed stomach to his fingernails to his ears. "You a queer?"  
  
"Mhm," Arthur murmured. Charles merely nodded.   
  
"I guess we're building your uncle a butcher's shed?"  
  
"Oh, you my helper?"  
  
"You're _my_ helper," Charles corrected, and Arthur smiled at him. The car idling at the road blew their horn.  
  
"Y'all better hurry!" he called back over his shoulder just as John burst through the screen door. He had his walkman on and Arthur could hear _God Only Knows_ blaring.  
  
"Bye Artie!" John screamed, too loud over the music. When he wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck to give him a quick hug, the paper he was holding smacked the cigarette from his hand. Then he was gone, small body racing towards the mini van.  
  
"It's here," Charles moved to pick it up but then stood up straight, pointing towards it with his foot. Arthur slipped from the railing onto the ground to grab it.   
  
"So, you boys get introduced?" Hosea asked, walking out onto the porch.   
  
"What's this about a butcher's shed?"  
  
"I'm diversifying," he said pointedly, and led them into the field past Arthur's truck. Piles of building materials had been set out for them - wood boards, nails, tools, etc., and Charles began looking them over immediately. "Have everything you need?"  
  
Arthur watched him pick up one of the huge beams like it was nothing. "Should be good for now. You're wanting it facing this way, right?"

They talked about the logistics of the shed for a while. Arthur only caught a bit of it, but the information wasn't really for him anyways.  
"Anyway, hope you can find a good use for my nephew here. He's a little simple but he sure is strong," he clapped Arthur's shoulder to emphasize it.   
  
"Thanks Hosea."  
  
Charles smiled at him, just a little. "I'm sure I'll find a good use for him." 

They spent the first couple of hours clearing the space in silence, Hosea having left them to their work. The mid morning sun was hot and thick in the summer humidity, and Arthur used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his brow. Once, he dropped his shirt from his face to find Charles watching him.   
"Sure have a lot of tattoos," he noted, turning back to the thick weeds he was pulling up.   
  
"Mhm."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"Not sure."  
  
"How are you not sure?" he stood up straight again to wait for Arthur's answer. The sweat gave Charles' skin a healthy, dewy glow.   
  
"Got different parts at different times," he explained, and pulled up his shirt to show his chest piece: the large head of a buck with wide antlers and foliage trailing down from them. "Got the deer done by one fella then this lady did the flowers and shit later. That one or two?"  
  
"Two," Charles said, and looked at the tattoo for another moment before Arthur pulled his shirt back down. "You a hunter?"  
  
"Nah, just thought it would look neat."   
  
Arthur turned to go back to work but Charles continued, "Thought you were coming from Pittsburgh?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"You don't sound like it."  
  
"Raised down south, 'fore I came up here. How you know Hosea anyway?"  
  
"He's a part of the community," Charles answered vaguely.   
  
"So you're...buildin' him a shed?"  
  
Charles shrugged. "There aren't that many people living here. We try to help each other. And Hosea is a good man."   
  
"Nice of ya."  
  
"Why are you out here all of a sudden?"  
  
"They're family. Do I need another reason?" he bristled slightly.   
  
"No," Charles said, unaffected. "Just been two years since him and John moved here and I've never seen you before."  
  
"Uh, well, they came and visited me," he lied. "Ain't a whole lot to do out here in case ya didn't notice."  
  
"No, there isn't," Charles agreed pointedly, still a question.  
  
"Meant to be fixin' up that old truck," he explained, nodding towards it in the distance. "Then he's gonna let me take it home."  
  
Charles snorted, a surprising noise that made Arthur smile although he didn't understand what was funny.  
  
"Good luck with that. Even if you can get it started it'll never make it across the state."   
  
"Wanna bet?" Arthur asked, feeling cocky. To his surprise, Charles matched his expression playfully.   
  
"Hundred dollars says you don't get it to Pittsburgh by August."  
  
Arthur laughed and immediately stuck out his hand. " _August?_ That's easy money, deal."   
  
Again, Charles moved like he was going to shake his hand and then seemed to decide against it. He merely nodded and turned to his work. With Charles' back to him, Arthur rolled his eyes. It was a familiar interaction. They worked until noon in silence. 

Hosea served them sandwiches and lemonade for lunch. He watched Charles take a long, deep drink, a drop dribbling down his chin and over his bobbing Adam's apple.   
"How's it coming?" Hosea asked, sitting down with his own food.   
  
"Good," Charles answered. "Got the space cleared. Should be able to start building tomorrow."   
  
"Wonderful. Thank you again, Charles."   
  
"It's my pleasure," he smiled at Hosea kindly.   
  
_Kiss ass,_ Arthur thought. He stuffed the last bite of his lunch into his mouth and moved to go back outside.   
  
"Hey, hey, what's the rush?" Hosea asked. "Sit down."  
  
"Wanna work on the truck," he said, mouth full. Hosea rolled his eyes.   
  
"Go on, then."  
  
Arthur went without another word. 

After a bit, he heard the screen door open and close, but did not look up until Charles called out to him. "See you tomorrow, Arthur."  
  
"Be seein’ you."   
  
He waved and got into his truck. Arthur looked after him before going back to the engine. 

He'd made little headway by the time John got home, and at that point it became futile to even try. He stood next to Arthur and started talking before he even went inside to put his stuff down. His walkman headphones, abandoned around his neck, were playing loudly even as he talked.   
"You know how batteries work, John?" he asked, standing up straight and wiping motor oil from his hands onto his exposed stomach.   
  
"Huh?"  
  
"How batteries work."  
  
"No? I'm eleven."   
  
"Well if you leave 'em runnin' when you're not using 'em they ain't gonna last very long."  
  
"I _am_ using them."  
  
"Fine, but I ain't buyin' you new batteries when those die."   
  
John paused the walkman and followed Arthur towards the house. "But anyway, I told Abigail no, it's mine, and it's real delicate."  
  
"Ain't Hosea teach you to share?"  
  
"No."  
  
Arthur laughed, grabbing John's head and shaking it a little. 

Hosea served them trout for dinner with rice and a slice of lemon. He made them both start with a a salad.   
"Fancy," Arthur scoffed, stabbing the spinach and arugula mixture.   
  
"It might be if we weren't dining with a scantily-clad man covered in dirt and motor oil."  
  
Arthur made a hurt noise and John slammed his hand to his mouth to hide his laugh.   
"It's hot out."  
  
"Why was Charles here today?" John asked.   
  
"Him and Arthur are building us a butcher's shed, so we can go hunting more often."  
  
"I like hunting."   
  
"I know ya do."  
  
"Can Charles take me hunting again?"  
  
Arthur looked up. "Charles takes you hunting?"  
  
"Mhm," John stuffed a fork full of rice into his mouth. "Couple times. Bet he'd teach you too if you ask."  
  
"I know how," he said defensively. Hosea looked at him, dubious. "I _do_. I could. You seen me shoot."  
  
"I have. I have also seen you wait for things."  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes and moved onto his fish. 

He'd showered and was sketching on the back porch when the screen door creaked open. He'd been aimlessly drawing the river, dropping notes about the past few days in the margins. At the noise, he looked up to see John standing there with a chapter book clutched in his hand.   
"Hey Artie."  
  
"Hey John."   
  
"Will you read to me?" he asked quickly, all in one breath. Arthur smiled and closed his journal.   
  
"Yeah. What are we reading?"  
  
" _The Hobbit_ ," he said, leading Arthur through the house. "It's my favorite."   
  
"Mm. Good choice."  
  
"You read it before?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
John's room was very much an eleven year old's room. He had glow in the dark stars stuck up on the ceiling and cowboy bedding. There was a poster of a monster truck on his closet door, and his clothing was strewn all over the floor. He had placed the walkman on a pillow on his dresser like it was made of gold. It was nice, John having a permanent space. He deserved it. Arthur would've killed to have had his own floor to throw clothes onto at that age.   
"Shove over," he said, pushing John. "From the beginning?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
Th paperback was worn, with dog eared pages and grease marks in the first section. It looked like John had struggled through a few pages before giving up. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..."  
About fifteen minutes later, he was asleep. Arthur dog eared the page and moved to leave when his hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed his arm. "Don't go, Artie," he said, fearful. He must have been half dreaming. Arthur sat back down and John slowly drifted back off, mumbling to himself. 

  
Two years before, he'd said the same thing from his car seat.   
  
"Please," he'd continued, clutching Arthur's shirt.   
  
"C'mon John, let go."   
  
" _No_."  
  
"You have to - !"  
  
"No!" he shouted, and Arthur had to uncurl his little fist himself.   
  
"I'm gonna see you all the time still." John pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face into his arms. Arthur reached out to rub his back, but he jerked away from the touch. He stepped back away from the car. "Love you, Johnny."   
  
He didn't look up, and when Arthur closed the door Hosea was standing at the front of the car watching him. "You can still come."  
  
"Nah, I can't."  
  
Hosea just looked at him for a long moment. Arthur had a black eye at the time. "Well, if you change your mind I'll always have a bed for you." Arthur nodded and looked down at his feet. Hosea hugged him tightly. "Please be safe."  
  
"I will be."  
  
John hadn't looked up at all before they drove away, but Arthur waved anyway. 


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, Charles brought a boombox. "Thought we could listen to some music while we work."

"Sure."

"You like _Pearl Jam_?"

"No."

Charles huffed, like this was some great offense. He pulled another few tapes from his pocket. " _The Offspring_?"

"Closer."

" _Rage Against the Machine_?"

"Yeah," Arthur smiled, and they began setting the foundation. It was hot and the boards were heavy so they took a break at ten. Arthur got them each a glass of water. 

"Thank you," Charles said, grabbing a glass and taking a drink before Arthur could protest.

"That one was mine."

"Hm?"

"That one was mine. Ain't got ice in it."

Charles looked down at the glass in his hand. "Did you drink from this?"

"From my glass of water? Yes." 

Charles wiped quickly at his mouth, eyes a little wide. "Do you have it?" he blurted out.

"What?" Arthur asked, but he knew what.

"Do you have it?"

Arthur felt a nauseating mix of anger and shame rise in his chest. He threw the glass he'd been holding at the ground where it shattered.  
"No I ain't got _it_ ," he spat. "Ain't how you catch it anyway you stupid fuckin' hick." Before he could respond, Arthur turned around and marched off. Charles did not try to stop him. 

Instead of having to explain himself to Hosea, Arthur walked to the library. The librarian stared at his muddy shoes when he walked in, but said nothing. Thankfully Arthur had worn a full length shirt that day. It was clearly the church's storage room - none of the shelves were attached to the walls and the religious section took up roughly a third of the entire selection. Someone was seated at one of the two huge desktops that faced each other at the center of the room and it looked like they were playing _Minesweeper_. Unsurprisingly, the automotive section was small, but it was not useless. Arthur found a book called _The Beginner Mechanic_ and took it to the front. The librarian was young but regarded him seriously. He was wearing a vest over his button down shirt and his brown hair was parted carefully.   
"Hello," he squinted at the name tag, "Albert. Can I check this out?"

"Do you have a Bushkill library card?"

"I do not."

"You need one to rent books and CDs."

"Can I have a Bushkill library card _please_?" Arthur had learned early in his life to make nice with librarians. Before Dutch and Hosea, Arthur spent many winter nights curled up on the couch in the Carnegie Library. Sharon, the main librarian, would let him in before she left at night and sneak him out in the morning. 

"Do you have an ID?"

Arthur felt his pockets and realized he'd stormed off without it. "Not on me."

"No ID, no library card." 

"C'mon, I'm good for it. Where am I gonna go?" he smiled, trying to charm the man. He crossed his arms and shook his head.  
"Fine." Arthur made to put it back and tucked it under his shirt before leaving. 

He "acquired" a pop and a candy bar at the gas station before turning back towards the house. The clerk had been meek and nervous, happy to ignore Arthur's hands in favor of his polite conversation. He was passing by the stone clock tower when a man in a large black coat called out to him from one of the benches there. He was hunched over where he was sitting, a white cane extended out in front of him. 

"Spare change?" 

"Uh," Arthur checked his pockets again uselessly. "Sorry, ain't got nothin' on me. You want a cigarette?"

The man paused. "Yeah, sure." 

Arthur lit him one and handed it to him. But he reached down the man grabbed his wrist. Arthur tired to yank his hand back but he was surprisingly strong for how frail he looked. "Hey man - !"

"Your whole life, sir, you have followed the wrong star," he said, and finally released his wrist. Arthur pulled back, rubbing where his hand had clamped onto him. 

"You shouldn't go grabin' people," he huffed, continuing on his way. 

Charles' car was still in the driveway and the door was propped open, as it always seemed to be, with the screen door closed. The bait shop counter had a sign on it that said _Back in a fishy!_ and Hosea and Charles were inside eating lunch together.   
"There you are, Arthur," Hosea smiled. Charles did not look at him. "Come eat." 

"Got food," he held up his spoils and walked towards the back door. 

"That's hardly a - ," the back door cut off the rest of his sentence with a sharp _crack_.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of a car starting and moving over the gravel. Arthur was laid back against the boards eating. He found you could feel the gentle pull of the river like that, shifting the support beams ever so slightly. The screen door opened but he didn't sit up. Hosea carefully lowered himself down next to him.   
"John still not up?" he asked to stave off the question. 

"No, but he should be soon."

"Damn ain't it nearly eleven?"

"Yeah," Hosea chuckled, "but I try to let him sleep in on his days off. Ain't no fun to miss summer vacation." 

"Mm," he hummed, offering his candy bar out to his uncle.

He took a small piece. "Something happen this morning?"

"What, he didn't tell ya?" he asked instead of answering. 

"Nope. Just came in with a bunch of broken glass, said he'd offended you."

Arthur huffed out a laugh. "Asked me if I have AIDS."

Hosea inhaled sharply through his nose. "I wouldn't have thought...Charles is usually so polite." Arthur wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he didn't. Hosea continued after a moment. "I'll ask him not to come back. I'm sorry, Arthur."

"No, it's fine. Let us finish this shed for you first."

"No, it's not - !" 

"You think that's the first time that happened?" he snapped. "It ain't. It's fine. I got thick skin. We'll finish the shed and I'll be outta here by then anyway."

Hosea was quiet. Arthur stared up at the fluffy white clouds. "If you insist."

"I do. Besides," he sighed, feeling defeated by Hosea's patience, "he don't seem like a bad guy. Didn't seem to care I was...well, there's a lot of misinformation goin' around. Figure he probably didn't know better."

"Maybe. It's up to you - I won't be upset either way."

Arthur thought of John asking to go hunting with Charles and shook his head. He wasn't around. Someone else was here instead, doing Hosea's yard work and teaching John how to shoot. He didn't know that it was fair to ask him to stay away.   
"Been almost a year since Davey," he said, not sure what he meant by the observation. 

"Already?"

"Mhm."

"Did Mac ever come back around."

"Once, to get his stuff and yell at Dutch."

"Hmph," Hosea laughed humorlessly. "How'd he take that?"

They'd all been home when Mac showed up. Arthur, Javier, and Tilly were laid out against the couch, smoking weed in silence. He could hear Karen getting sick in the bathroom and Sean trying to comfort her. Dutch was alone in the kitchen. It was all still so fresh - the funeral had been earlier that day.   
Mac had barreled through the front door without knocking. Dutch must have heard him coming, because he was in the room and pointing a gun at him before the door finished opening.   
"Mac," he said as soon as he realized, lowering his gun. "Son, I was so worried - !"

"Shoot me."

"What? Mac - !"

Mac closed the distance between him and Dutch and grabbed his hand. He pulled the gun up and pressed it against his own forehead. Dutch held onto the weapon weakly, eyes wide in surprise. The moment was seared into Arthur's mind. Mac looked terrible; dark bags under his eyes, ripped clothes, and dirt caked onto his fingernails. The hand clutched over Dutch's was shaking.   
"Just fucking shoot me, Dutch. Kill me like you killed Davey. Get it fucking over with." 

"Mac, just calm down - ."

"No!" he'd screeched wildly, and the gun went off. For one long and terrifying second, Arthur thought it had hit him. Mac pulled the trigger, but Dutch jerked his hand away just in time. There was a bullet hole in the ground next to him. No one moved. 

"You fucking coward!" he'd screamed, "You gutless coward! He's dead and it's your fucking fault! Putting him and Karen and Arthur on the streets at fucking sixteen when you knew. You _knew_. His blood is on your hands. I hope it infects you." 

Mac's voice had broken, and there were tears running down his face. A moment passed where Dutch was silent and Mac tried to slow his ragged breathing.  
“Where's his stuff?" he finally asked. Tilly scrambled up and grabbed the box they had packed of Davey's things. He clutched her hand for a moment before turning to Arthur.   
"You better get out, or it's gonna be you next." 

Arthur had said nothing and Mac left. He would never see him again.

"Poorly," he told Hosea. 

"He never took criticism especially well." 

"Huh-uh."

"Hey," John's wounded voice came from inside. They both turned to see him with his face pressed up against the screen, skin pinching through the small holes. "You eating candy without me?"

Arthur laughed and held out what was left of the candy bar. John quickly ran out to grab it but Hosea slapped his hand away. "Not for breakfast." 

The brothers exchanged a look and Arthur tossed it past Hosea to John, who took off with it cackling. 

* * *

The next morning, Arthur woke up early. Earlier than Hosea, even. His eyes had shot open at 5AM from a nightmare he couldn't remember, and he knew there was no going back to sleep. As quietly as he could, he grabbed a t-shirt, his cigarettes, and his journal and went onto the back porch. He was surprised to find that someone had pulled out a third fishing chair and set it up next to Hosea and John's. He let himself smile at the gesture, and settled down into it even though it had a little dew on it. 

The sun in Bushkill rose over the hillside from which their estuary of the Delaware river flowed. The soft morning light scattered rhythmically over the rushing water, creating a dizzying show of purples and blues, of oranges and pinks. Arthur documented it all as well as he could, but just when he thought he'd captured every tumbling wave he'd find a new angle. While he was trying to shade the boulder that the water broke around, an osprey landed on the railing not five feet in front of him. Arthur froze, mouth open. Very slowly, he turned the page and began drawing. It sat for a long time, to the point that Arthur wondered if it had fallen asleep. When the screen door slammed open, the osprey immediately extended its huge wings and flew off.   
"Dammit, John," he said, turning around, "I was drawin' -." Arthur swallowed the rest of his sentence. Charles was standing In the doorway. Arthur turned back to the water.

"Sorry about your bird," Charles walked up and sat in Hosea's chair. He wore his hair in a bun up out of his face. This close, Arthur noticed he smelled like tonka and that he wore a turquoise necklace under his white t-shirt. Arthur shrugged and went back to shading the feathers. "You're really talented."

"Look, Charles," he set down his pencil and looked at him. His brown eyes were attentive. "We ain't gotta be friends, alright? Just buildin' a shed. We ain't gotta talk and you ain't gotta touch me."

"I'm really sorry about yesterday," he said, ignoring him. "I went home and read about it. I think I understand how it works now.”

”Wasn’t rude cause you don’t know how AIDS works. Was rude cause you think all gay people have it.”

”Yeah,” he said quietly. “I read about that too. I’m sorry. That was really dumb of me.”

”Yeah, it was.”

”Yeah.”

Arthur sighed, looking back out at the water. "Why you care what I think anyway?"

Charles shrugged. "I don't know. You seem interesting. I'd like to be your friend."

"Maybe _I_ don't wanna be _yours_. Ever consider that?"

He blinked, a little surprised, which was all the answer Arthur needed. "I get that," he said eventually. "I don't blame you. But I did bring you something to say sorry." 

Arthur couldn't help but to look over then. He'd always been a sucker for a gift. "What's that?"

Charles smiled at him. He had a really nice smile. From his pocket, he produced a small envelope and held it out to Arthur. Inside was a pair of handmade earrings with perfect little bluejay feathers hanging down from them. Arthur inhaled sharply despite himself, running his fingers over them. They were soft, real. He smoothed his face into neutrality before he looked back up at Charles.   
"I made them," he added before Arthur could say anything. 

" _Really_? I mean, uh...just, they're real fine. Thank you Charles." 

He beamed. "You're welcome. I'll meet you outside."

"Oh, yeah. Suppose it's about time now." 

"Just about."

"Alright."

Arthur hadn't totally committed to forgiving him yet, but when he went out to work he was wearing the earrings. 

Charles lingered after lunch. Arthur never stayed to eat with him and Hosea, but when he went in for a glass of water he was still there. Hosea was sitting on the stool behind the shop counter, and Charles was putting some rods up on the wall for him.   
"I coulda done that," Arthur said, glancing over at Hosea. He shrugged. 

"You're working on your truck. Plus, Charles is taller."

Arthur scoffed. "Barely."

"Petulance is not a good color on your, Arthur."

Charles glanced back at him over his shoulder, giving him a teasing look. He was always doing that - looking at Arthur with the corner of his mouth curled up, daring him to say something.   
"If you're dying to help somebody," Charles said, "I could use a hand tomorrow." 

"Didn't say I was dying to help."

"It's an expression." 

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Help with what?"

Charles put the last rod up on the highest stand and turned around to face him. "I sell at the farmer's market once a month. I was hoping to talk with a few people while I'm there, but I can't leave the stall alone. You'd just have to sit there and take people's money."

"Arthur is real good at that," Hosea said wryly. Arthur ignored him. He didn't have any good reason to say yes. They were on polite terms now, him and Charles, but not much beyond that. They weren't friends. 

"Sure." 

Charles smiled and touched his shoulder as he walked towards the door. His hand was warm and strong. "I'll pick you up at eight."

"Alright."

Arthur lingered there for a moment after he had gone, watching his truck pull out of the driveway. "Charles is very handsome," Hosea said almost absentmindedly, flipping the page of his newspaper. 

"Seems a little young for you," he shot back. Hosea looked up at him with a bored expression, only his eyes visible behind the _Sharpsburg Gazette_. 

* * *

Just as he promised, Charles pulled into the driveway at eight A.M. The sound of his wheels on the gravel woke Arthur up.   
"Shit," he got up quickly, grabbing a random heap of clothes and running into the bathroom. He heard the front door open and turned the shower on. "Sorry," he called out through the door, brushing his teeth while the water warmed up, "I'll just be a second."

"Alright," Charles called back. 

He washed quickly, but he was still hard from being asleep. He ran his hand over it and couldn't stop thinking about how Charles was right in the other room, waiting for him.   
_Fuck it_ , he thought and started stroking himself. Arthur wasn't a proud man. He didn't even try to think about anything other than Charles touching him, his heavy, warm weight pressed against his back. He sighed. 

"You about done?" came Charles' voice, right outside the bathroom door. Arthur bit his bottom lip and came as quietly as he could. 

"Give me a minute, goddamn," he snapped as soon as he was able to speak again. He thought Charles might have laughed. 

Arthur came out of the bathroom and his hair was still wet. He'd grabbed his wrinkled, black Goosebumps shirt and and loose, jean shorts to wear, which seemed well and good enough to him. He wasn't exactly sure what farm market attire was, but he left his silver earrings in. Charles looked him over openly.   
"Everything in order?" he asked sarcastically, pulling on his sneakers. Charles didn't respond, and Arthur followed him outside. 

As they were leaving, Charles turned and put his arm behind Arthur's seat so he could back out. He figured Charles didn't notice how his fingers accidentally brushed the back of Arthur's neck, or that he left them there for a moment. 

The market was huge. Charles said there was something like two hundred vendors and they each had their own stall. There were people selling antiques, hot food, farm equipment, and even some small livestock. There were also at least three jewelry stands and someone who made hats. Charles was one of several people who were selling animal pelts and the like, but his were clearly the best. His leather was soft and unblemished, sold in strips or long sections for crafting. His pelts were beautiful and the bag of beef jerky he gave Arthur for helping him was delicious.   
"Damn," he stood back to look when everything was set up. "You make all this yourself?"

Charles nodded, opening a lock box. "I don't sell it all every time. A lot of this is leftover." 

"Still."

"You alright making change?"

Arthur walked back around to stand next to him. "Sure."

"Good. I'm gonna go take care of a couple things. I'll be back in two hours. If you need me just...start yelling, I guess. Don't let anyone haggle with you until I'm back. There's a big, white guy named Bray who gives me a hard time about my leather prices. If he shows up, just tell him I'll be back in a bit."

"I'll be fine, I know the type." 

"Alright, later."

"Mhm." 

When Charles fell out of his line of sight, Arthur leaned the chair back and put his feet up on the wood stall. He had his sunglasses on and was doodling absentmindedly in his journal. The stall across from theirs was selling large animal skulls, polished and sealed for decoration. He spent a while drawing a hog skull with its huge, pointed tusks. Someone stepped into his light and he looked up at the large man in front of him. He was wearing overalls and a Ford cap.   
"Who are you?"

Arthur used his pencil to tap the sign above his head that read _Smith Hunting and Leatherwork_. 

"Where's Charles?"

Arthur shrugged. "Around." 

"Hmph," his gaze lingered for another moment before he looked towards the rolls of leather. "How much?"

"Whatever the tag says." 

He picked one up and unrolled it, running his thick fingers over the hide. "This isn't worth even half that," he scoffed, watching Arthur for a reaction. 

"You Bray?"

"How'd you know that?" 

"Charles'll be back in a bit." 

"Well I'm ready to pay now." 

"Then it's full price."

"I'm not paying that."

"Then kick rocks." 

Bray huffed, rolling the leather and putting it back. "No way to talk to a customer."

"You ain't buy nothin' so you ain't a customer. Just standin' there and irritatin' me." 

"I'm gonna go find Charles." 

"You do that." 

Arthur went back to his drawing but watched the man storm off over his sunglasses. He ended up getting rid of a lot of Charles' stock - more than half his leather and all the beef jerky. A lot of the customers tended to linger after, talking to him casually. Everyone except Bray seemed real nice. He got a couple sarcastic _nice ink_ comments, but even that was hardly malicious. It was nearly time for Charles to be coming back when a man of about forty approached the stall. He was a few inches shorter than Arthur, with salt and pepper hair and strikingly light green eyes. He was wearing a western hat that Arthur normally would've thought looked foolish, but it worked on him. His cowboy boots were muddy.   
"Hey," he said in a low, private voice. Arthur looked up immediately. 

"Hey." 

"Haven't seen you around before."

"Ain't been around before." 

"You're with Charles?"

"Just helping him out for the day," he answered carefully. 

"Mm," the man hummed, looking at his exposed thighs. Arthur moved his glasses up to sit on his head and leaned forward. 

"You gonna buy somethin' mister?" he asked in an equally low voice. 

"Are you for sale?" 

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was a stupid line but the man was handsome and he missed having sex. "When my buddy gets back meet me there," he said quickly, tilting his head towards the building behind them. The man nodded and moved on. 

Charles came back a half an hour later. He had a few pieces of paper in his hand and looked at Arthur a little worried.   
"Where's all my stuff?"

"Sold it," he smiled proudly, although he hadn't really done anything. 

"Geez, I almost never sell pelts in the summer."

Arthur shrugged, looking over Charles' shoulder. "I'm gonna run to the john."

"Sure," Charles sat in the chair next to his. "Take your time, walk around if you want."

"Alright." 

On his knees in the single stall bathroom, Arthur did take his time. There was no kissing, which he was a little sad about, but the feeling of the man's cock hitting the back of his throat was almost as good.   
"Fuck," he whimpered, hand curling into a fist in Arthur's hair. He griped about the condom at first, but whatever issue he had with it seemed to be forgotten as he rocked his hips against his mouth. "Fuck, fuck...I'm - I'm - !" 

Arthur pulled off of him and finished him with his hand. He whined loudly when he came, eyes closing and legs shaking. Arthur stared up at him the whole time, free hand holding the back of his thigh. They stayed like that for a minute, panting and sweaty. Finally, the man stood up straight and threw away the condom, buttoning his pants back up. He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead and watched as Arthur rinsed the taste of latex out of his mouth out in the sink. Nervously, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, he pressed up against Arthur's back and reached into his pants. He wasn't very good, so Arthur put a hand over his to help him and that worked just fine. Soon he was holding onto the sides of the sink with his breaths coming out in short little gasps. 

"How much?" he asked once they were both dressed. Arthur wasn't planning on charging him, but the money was already out so he took it. He gave Arthur an extra ten dollars like he was an especially polite waitress. The man went to leave first but paused, his hand on the doorknob. 

"Am I gonna see you around here again?"

"Probably not." 

"Oh," he looked a little disappointed. "It was, uh, nice to meet you."

Arthur laughed. "Yeah, you too." 

Charles had loaded most of his stuff back into his truck by the time Arthur came back. "Done already?"

"Yeah, I need to pick up a few things before people start closing. Did you get a look around at all?" 

"Nah."

"Come with me, then. There's a couple things I think you'll like." 

Charles introduced him to a few people he was friendly with and their goods. One man had the largest collection of antique keys Arthur had ever seen. Two old women, a couple he hoped optimistically, were selling beautiful flowers. Charles seemed especially friendly with a young woman named Molly who was selling her hand spun wool. She had fire red hair and a generous dusting of freckles over her face and chest. Arthur reached out to to touch a deep, plum colored wool and it was so soft he wanted to rub it against his cheek.   
"And this is my friend, Arthur," he finally introduced. Molly looked to him with vibrant eyes and smiled. 

"Hi Arthur, I'm Molly." 

"Hi Molly, good to meet you."

"Likewise." He shook her hand and it was so smooth it made him wonder what the process of spinning wool entailed. She was very beautiful and looked immediately back to Charles.

"You sold well today?"

"Yeah, a lot better than I thought I would actually."

"You should expect more. You're very talented."

Charles smiled and thanked her before gesturing for Arthur to follow him. "Later, Molly."

"Bye Charles."

Once they were out of earshot, Arthur threw the back of his hand against his forehead like he was about to faint.   
" _Oh, you're so talented Charles_." Charles smiled and rolled his eyes, walking straight ahead. " _Oh, goodbye Charles. Do come back, I don't think I can live another day without - !"_

"Jealous?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye.

Arthur hesitated and pretended to misunderstand him. "What? Hardly. She ain't quite my type." 

"Right. Okay, last thing. Chickens."

"Chickens?"

"Yup." They came upon a stall with a large wire cage in it. Six or seven adolescent chickens were strutting around, pecking at the ground.

"What for?"

Charles glanced back at him over his shoulder. "What do you think?"

Arthur made a pained noise. "They're just little. You gonna raise them and then kill them?"

"You mean farming? Yeah, I was planning on it." 

Charles handed the attendant a slip of paper and stepped into the cage. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he picked out the largest one and grabbed it by the feet. It spread its wings out in confusion but then just hung there. He looked up at Arthur.   
"You wanna pick out the other one?"

Arthur peaked at the rest of the chickens. "That little white one behind you." 

"Doesn't have much meat on it."

"You asked me to pick one out." 

"Alright well, come in and get it." 

"Uh," Arthur looked around helplessly. The attendant gave him an inpatient glance. "You're already in there." 

"I'll come out." 

"It's alright." Charles stepped out of the cage, showing Arthur how he was holding the animal's feet. Arthur took a step back - he'd never been this close to a live chicken and it looked a lot more monstrous than he had imagined. 

"What kind of a farmhand can't pick up a chicken..." the attendant said under his breath. 

"Ain't no goddamn farm hand." 

"Go on," Charles encouraged. The little white chicken stared thoughtlessly up at them, not a single thought behind its eyes. Arthur took a deep breath and stepped past the wires. "They can smell fear."

"Shut the hell up, Charles."

He laughed behind him and Arthur jerked out of the way of a large chicken that tried to peck at his shoelaces. "Get!" 

"Just grab it!"

"I'm tryin'!" 

He reached down towards the animal. Unlike the others, it did not run or peck at him. He reached for its feet and it delicately stepped out of his grasp. "It don't wanna be picked up."

"It'll be alright," Charles said gently. Arthur glanced back at him. "It's fine, I promise."   
The softness in his voice caught him off guard and he immediately felt a little calmer. There was concern there, warm and protective. Arthur was surprised to find that he trusted it, trusted Charles. He wasn't exactly sure when that had happened. They stood like that for a moment, just looking at each other. 

"Alright," he said quietly.  
Arthur crouched down in front of the little bird and it kept just looking at him like it was completely unfazed by his presence. As carefully as he could, he wrapped his arms around its body and picked it up. The chicken didn't protest even a little. He stood back up and stepped out of the cage, looking proudly at his friend. Charles was smiling so fondly at him that he couldn't help but smile back.  
"Got it."

Charles had a crate for the animals in the back of his truck. Arthur gently lowered his in and gave it pat on the head. "Named mine," he said as they got back into the cab. 

"Huh?"

"Named my chicken."

Charles gave him a sideways glance as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Hope you named it dinner." 

" _No_ I ain't name it dinner. Named her Dopey."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dopey. Like the dwarf in Cinderella." Charles began laughing harder than Arthur had ever seen him. "Oh, fuck off." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he took a deep breath, wiping at his eyes. "That's adorable." 

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and turned away to hide the small pleasure the comment gave him.   
"Seemed like that Molly girl liked you," he tried to say nonchalantly, staring out the window. 

"Eh, I don't know about that."

"You got a girlfriend already or somethin'?" 

Out of his peripheral, he saw Charles glance over at him. "Nope." 

"What's the problem then?"

"There's no problem. It's just not like that." 

"Alright. She's just pretty, is all." 

"She is. Do you have a boyfriend back home?" 

"Nah." 

"Is it because you're so bad at handling cocks?" Arthur looked at Charles in disbelief. He was smiling mischievously. "Get it?" he asked after a moment. "Cause of the chickens?"  
  
"Yeah I _get it_. Jesus," Arthur found himself laughing with him. 

The car ride back was a little long, but comfortable. Arthur was finding out that Charles and he could share a silence. He didn't feel awkward not talking, just enjoyed the low music and the fresh, summer air that flowed in through their open windows.   
"What do your parents do?"

"Hm?"

"Hosea's your uncle, right? What do your parents do?"

Arthur paused. Charles' expression was neutral, staring ahead at the road. "Gettin' a little personal today."

"Is that bad?" 

Arthur shrugged. "Guess I don't understand why you're wantin' to know." 

"I told you, I want to be your friend." 

"Why? I'm just gonna leave in like a month anyway." 

"Can't have a friend for a month?"

Arthur was quiet. He was in foreign territory. He had friends of course, but not outside of the gang. Not normal people leading quiet, happy lives. And those friendships were so high stakes - you'd had better hope you got along with the new guy, cause they're watching your back when you do jobs. Nothing so light and easy as this. It felt so much more delicate.  
"Ask a different question."

"Huh?"

"Ask me a different question."

Charles thought for a moment. "When did you know you were gay?"

"Hah, um...think I always knew a little. Wasn't sure till I kissed a boy."

"When was that?"

"Twelve, maybe. Don't quite remember. Just remember we were under the bleachers at a public pool."

"Very romantic."

Arthur laughed. "When did you know you was straight?" he tried to joke. 

"I'm not." He said it simply, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Arthur stared at him. "Huh?" 

"What?"

"You're gay?"

"I'm bisexual." 

"Oh." 

They turned onto Horseshoe Road in silence. Arthur stared straight ahead and tried to quiet the queasy nervousness that had erupted in his stomach.   
"I didn't know that. You said that thing about AIDS..."

"That's when I realized, actually. I was reading about it and being gay and I didn't really know you can like everything." 

"Well...congratulations." 

"Thank you." 

They pulled into the driveway but Arthur didn't get out right away. He felt like there was something else he should say but for the life of him he didn't know what it was.   
"Charles?"

"Yeah?" 

Two small, sticky hands slapped themselves onto the glass of Arthur's window. He jumped about a foot in the air.   
"Hah! Scared you!" John yelled. Arthur opened the door just quickly enough that it smacked John flat onto the ground. 

"Ow!" 

"That's what you get!" 

"There better not be an eleven-year-old shaped dent in my door!" Charles called out. John scrambled up to look at it. 

"No there ain't Charles!"

"Good. What were you gonna say, Arthur?" 

He looked back at Charles from where he was already halfway out of the truck. "Uh, nothing. I'll see you tomorrow." 

Charles stared at him for a long moment but then looked away to back out. "See you." 


	3. Chapter 3

Like every other afternoon, Arthur rushed through lunch and went out to work on the truck. He had _The Beginner Mechanic_ open inside the hood with him when he heard the screen door open.  
"Hey," Charles said, suddenly right next to him.

Arthur jerked up in surprise and hit his head on the hood. "Jesus, fuck," he held his head, glaring over at him. " _Hi_. Wear a bell or somethin'."

"Are you alright?" he asked, but he was smiling. 

"I guess."

"How's it going?" he nodded towards the engine, squinting at the book. "How's _The Beginner Mechanic_?" 

"We ain't been friendly near long enough for you to be teasin' me."

"Sorry."

Arthur grunted, leaning back towards his work. "You need somethin'?"

"Yeah. I'm having some people over tonight. You should come." Arthur didn't try to hide his doubtful expression. "No really, it'll be fun. You can meet the other people our age around here. There'll be a bonfire."

"Sittin' around a fire with a bunch of backwoods strangers ain't exactly my idea of a fun Friday night." 

"There'll be weed too."

Arthur paused. "I dunno. We'll see. Where you live?" 

"How 'bout this?" Arthur spun around to show John and Hosea his outfit. They were sitting at the dinner, Hosea with the newspaper open in front of him and John building a lego set. His second outfit was a white t-shirt, blue jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. 

Hosea glanced up. "You look like James Dean."

Arthur huffed, "That ain't how I wanna look." 

"Like James Dean!" John repeated in a pretty good Hosea voice. 

"The hell do you do at a bonfire anyway?"

"Something that needs a real special outfit, apparently," John said. Hosea snorted. 

"Shut up, John." Arthur went back to his room to look through his clothes again. When he came back out, he was wearing the rainbow trout crewneck Hosea had bought him when he first came out, his blue jean shorts, his sneakers, and Charles' earrings. He held his arms out for criticism. 

"I like it!" Hosea said without looking up. 

"Rainbow trout go back to lay eggs in the same stream where they hatched. Did you know that?"

Arthur sighed. "Karen and Tilly are much better at this." 

"Bet Karen and Tilly don't know much as I do about fish." 

"Whatever, this is what I'm wearin'."

"Take the car," Hosea said as Arthur made towards the door.

"...You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"What if there's an emergency?" As long as he had known him, Arthur had never been allowed to drive Dutch's car if he wasn't also in it. 

"John, what do we do if there's an emergency?"

"Call 911 and run to Leopold's house," he recited. 

"Well, what if Leopold ain't home?"

"It's Friday evening, he'll be home."

"Alright," he relented, taking the keys from the hook, "Be seeing y'all."

"Be safe."

"Bye Artie!"

When Arthur arrived, he saw five people sitting around the bonfire. He could smell weed and beer and cigarettes and for a strange moment it was the most familiar smell in the world.  
"Arthur!" Charles shouted, waving. "You made it!" 

He couldn't help but smile at his tipsy friend. He took a seat on the log next to him when Charles gestured towards it. "Yeah, figured it beat watchin' Disney Channel with John." 

"Everyone, this is Arthur, Hosea's nephew. Arthur, this is Sadie, Mary-Beth, Bill, and Micah."

He nodded towards them. "Nice to meet y'all."

"Where you from?" Sadie asked immediately. She had long blond hair and brown eyes, and wore a green flannel tucked into her jeans. 

"Comin' from Pittsburgh."

She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrow. "Don't sound like it."

"From Georgia, originally."

"That's what I thought. I'm from Alabama." 

"Sadie runs Valentine's," Charles added. Valentine's was a small bar in town that he'd passed a couple of times. It was a simple, small brick building. 

"I think you came to eat at Susan's when I was working," Mary-Beth piqued up. 

"Oh yeah," he remembered then - her brown hair up in a messy bun, pretty but tired eyes, and the pink uniform. "Sorry I didn't realize." 

"That's alright," she said quickly, smiling wide at him. "Hosea's my favorite customer." 

"And Hosea's your...uncle?" Bill asked. He wore his beard so long it brushed his collarbone and his hair close cropped to his head. He had a _Big Dog_ shirt on. 

"Mhm," he hummed noncommittally. "Charles, where can I get - ?"

"But John is your brother?" Micah asked. Arthur looked over at him for the first time. He had long, stringy blond hair under a worn baseball cap. His John Deer crewneck was dirty and while they were making eye contact, he spit his chew into an empty Pepsi bottle. Arthur's lip curled involuntarily.

"He is."

"So Hosea ain't his dad?" His voice made Arthur's skin crawl. He wasn't sure he'd ever disliked someone so fast.

He turned back to Charles. "Beer?"

Charles led him in through the house. It was dark, but in the light from the fire outside he could see a small side table with an intricately decorated, handmade pot. There was a lush, soft looking pelt on the ground that he was sure Charles had made himself. The far wall was plain, exposed brick.   
"Sorry about Micah," he said once he'd closed the screen door behind them. "Bill brought him."

"Mm, he's quite the charmer."

He laughed quietly, leading Arthur through the room. Charles reached out to brush his fingers over a handwoven blanket draped over the back of the couch. Arthur mimicked him as he passed it. "Soft," he murmured.

"What?" Charles stopped walking. Arthur wasn't looking and ran fully into his back. "Whoops," Charles laughed again, light and easy. He turned around and grabbed Arthur's shoulders like he was worried he'd knocked him off balance. But it seemed to be more for Charles himself - he swayed very lightly even holding Arthur. 

"Alright?" Arthur asked him. 

"Yeah, yeah. What'd you say?" 

Arthur had to look up to make eye contact with him, they were so close. "Just that blanket is soft." 

"Oh, yeah. I love it," he picked it up and ran his hands over it. "My mom made it."

"Wow, she must be really talented."

"She was," he said, looking wishfully at it.

Arthur watched him, overly aware of how cold his shoulders felt when he lifted his hands away. "Was?"

"Yeah," Charles sighed, and suddenly whipped it up around Arthur's shoulders. He pulled it up over Arthur's head like a cloak and scrunched it closed over his chest. "There. Blue is a good color on you."  
Charles smiled at him, wide and goofy, and Arthur could feel his face growing warm. But he had no way to stop it - no where to look but into Charles' deep, rich gaze.  
"It brings out your eyes," he continued. Slowly, as if he were afraid of spooking him, Charles slid his hands from the blanket to the base of Arthur's neck. One of his index fingers brushed delicately against his earring. "That's why I used bluejay feathers for these."

"Thank you," he exhaled, and he could see the way his breath disturbed the baby hairs that hung down into Charles' face. 

"Mhm," he mumbled. His thumb easily found the hollow of Arthur's collarbone and rubbed over it gently. 

"Charles - ?" he started, but then the door slid open and someone stepped inside. They were just out of view of it, and Charles stepped back from him immediately. Just as Mary-Beth rounded the corner, Arthur tossed the blanket back over the couch. 

"Hey," she said slowly, "Get lost?"

Arthur was confused before he looked around and realized Charles was no longer in front of him. He thought he heard the front door open and close, but he wasn't sure.   
"Yeah," he said, and let Mary-Beth show him where the beer was. 

He took his Yuengling back out and sat down next to Mary-Beth and Sadie. Charles didn't look at him and he felt a flush of embarrassment despite having not done anything. In the light of the fire, he was half convinced he had imagined the interaction. Or maybe Charles was more drunk than he seemed. The possibilities darted around his mind until he got so agitated that he stood suddenly. Everyone looked up at him.  
"Where's Dopey?" 

Charles met his eyes only met for a moment before he quickly looked away. Arthur couldn't decide if it was nervousness or shame. "There's a coup back behind the house."

"Who's Dopey?" Sadie asked, still suspicious. Her trying to sounds serious saying Dopey made him want to laugh. 

"My chicken, c'mon," he waved for her to follow him. She, Mary-Beth, and Bill ended up trailing after him. He only thought for a second about how he was leaving Charles alone with Micah. 

"Why does Charles have your chicken?" Bill asked. They were blindly feeling their way around the house, it was so dark back there. Charles' property dragged far out into the darkness, past where he could make out the details of it. 

"Well, it's Charles' chicken. I just named it." Finally, they came upon it. It had a tall wire fence all around it but there was a little door to go in. "Wait just here, she's real sweet."   
Arthur crouched down to get into the coup. It was even darker in there, but he could see the soft sheen of Dopey's white feathers. She was sleeping, so as delicately as he could, he wrapped his arms around her. Grumpy, as Arthur had taken to thinking of Charles' chicken, did not look up. 

"Awe look at her!" Mary-Beth cooed when he came out. 

Arthur smiled and let everyone pet her. Like a kitten, she purred under the touch. "Ain't she just the most darlin' thing you ever seen?"

"I mean it's a chicken," Bill said, running his index finger over her head. "But she is really laid back." 

"Think she'd like sitting at the fire?" 

"Yeah, think she would," Sadie smiled, petting her down her little back. 

"But yeah," Bill said as they were walking back, "when restoring an old truck like that it's really important. Gets overlooked a lot then you're just pouring money into it." 

"Mm," he mused, carefully sitting cross legged on the ground. "Didn't think about that." With his hands busy, it was easier to not think about Charles sitting across the way from him and wonder about what was going through his head. He didn't comment on Dopey's entrance, but Arthur did catch him smile down into his drink when he saw them. 

"Sadie," Bill turned to her, "Jake ever get that buggy going?"

Sadie rolled her eyes. "Once, for about ten minutes."

"Who's Jake?"

"My husband," Sadie smiled, a proud little look on her face. "We run Valentine's together."

"Oh, how long you been married?"

"Three years and four months," she said automatically. 

She looked about his age, maybe a couple years older at most. That she could have gotten married at twenty was a little baffling to him. Most of the people his age that he was used to being around were...well, in the gang. Not so many happily married couples.   
"What?" she demanded, noticing his expression. "I wasn't pregnant and holdin' a shotgun. We're in love." 

"I do not doubt that," he said quickly. "That's real nice." 

"It is," she said confidently, then after a moment of thought. "You and Jake would get along, I think. He lived in the city for a while." 

"That were y'all met?"

Sadie smiled into the fire, a bashful little look coming over her face. "I was still living at home in Alabama and he was goin' to school in Birmingham. Went up with my friends one weekend and we met at a bar, if you can believe it." 

"That why it's called Valentine's?"

She rolled her eyes, a blush touching her cheeks. "Was Jake's idea. Mary-Beth, what happened to that guy you met visitin' me last week?"

"Oh, he was just some bumpkin passing through."

"You fuck him?" Micah asked, sitting up to rest his elbows on his knees. His sixth beer bottle was in his hand, the rest discarded at his feet. 

The conversation quieted around them. "Excuse me?"

"Just wonderin' how tough of a cookie you are, sweetie." The way Micah smiled at her was the same way johns would smile at him and Karen when they worked. It was a smile that hid something dark and mean. Neither of them ever got into the car with men like Micah. "Might be I want to break you." 

"Watch your mouth, Micah," Sadie warned. Her face fell so naturally into malice, eyes glowing in the firelight. 

He barked a laugh. "You better run and get your hubby if you're gonna make threats."

"Alright, quit," he said, looking up at the other man. His gaze, yellow and unnerving, turned to Arthur. 

"Ain't afraid of you neither, Mary." 

"What'd you just call me?" 

"Sorry, you prefer faggot?" 

"Micah - !" Charles tried to break in sternly. Arthur stood up carefully, cutting him off with a glance. 

"Mary-Beth, will you please hold Dopey." She opened her arms and Arthur gently laid Dopey into her lap. He turned back towards Micah, carefully taking his earrings out and putting them in his pocket. "Come on then."

"What?"

"Talkin' an awful big game. Stand up." 

Micah put his hands up, a twisting grin on his face. "Hey, hey, I'm just joking. I know you ain't gay."

"I am," he corrected, pushing his sleeves up on his forearms. "I'll still lay you out." 

"Nope," Charles stood up, moving to stand between them. 

"That's alright Charlie," Micah stood and stepped in front of him towards Arthur. "If he wants to fight, we can fight. I'm real good at smear the queer." 

"Bill, get your buddy," Charles moved to grab Arthur's shoulder. "Arthur, don't - ." 

"Let Arthur hit him," Sadie encouraged from behind him. Mary-Beth got up and moved several feet away with Dopey. 

"Yeah Charles, let him hit me." 

"Come on, man," Bill said, but he did not move to restrain his friend. Without warning, Micah bumped aggressively past Charles to get to Arthur. He tripped backwards over a log and fell but Arthur didn't see how he landed before Micah tackled him at his waist.

Arthur landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him. Micah got one solid punch at his cheekbone in before Arthur could breathe again. Hovering over him like Micah was, Arthur could smell the body odor and chewing tobacco that seemed to secrete from him. Somewhere behind them, Charles cursed loudly.   
"Bet you're real used to this," Micah huffed out, swinging his leg over his body to try and hold is arms down. Arthur let him, using his moment of distraction to pull one leg up so that his knee was up between them. "What are you - ?"

Arthur put his foot against Micah's abdomen and kicked out as hard as he could. He fell backwards off of him, landing against the log they'd been sitting on. Arthur turned over onto his hands and knees, trying to regain his breath.   
"That was dirty," Micah said, holding his arm where he'd landed. 

"You fuckin' tackled me," Arthur wheezed. 

"Oof," Micah glanced past him. "Better check on your boyfriend." 

Arthur sat up and looked back to see Charles on the ground with Sadie. She was holding his left hand, splayed open with blood dripping from a wound on his palm. "Charles - ?"

Micah suckered punched him while his head was turned, but Arthur managed to stay up right. Stupidly, Micah stood there in front of him, fist reared back to hit him again. From his position on his knees Arthur easily grabbed his shirt and yanked him back onto the ground with him. He came down hard, face first into the dirt. Arthur grabbed his shoulders and turned him over onto his back. He hit him square in the face, felt his nose pop under his fist. Micah yelled out, grabbing his bleeding nose with both hands. 

Bill finally decided to join the fun, walking over to stand above Micah. "You good, man?"

"No!" he shouted, "Broke my fucking nose." 

"I warned you," Arthur stood up and touched his lip. It was also bleeding, but not too badly.

"He did warn you."

"Fuck you Bill, help me."

He went back over to crouch next to Charles. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed. Sadie was pressing a fistful of towel paper against his hand, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide open at her feet. "It's fine, just burned it when I fell. Are you okay?"

"Oh, course," he smiled. Charles grimaced and he figured there was blood on his teeth so he closed his mouth. "Really, this is nothin'."

Behind them, Micah finally stood up. He was holding his the collar of his shirt to his face, the green of it quickly turning a dark brown. "Don't bring him around anymore, Bill." Charles said, probably needlessly. Micah scoffed, but the sound was heavily muffled. 

"Like I'd wanna come back around a bunch - !"

"Yeah, I won't. Sorry guys. Be seein' ya."

"You okay to drive?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." 

There was a long silence while they left. Sadie put a bandage around Charles' hand and offered Arthur a towel paper doused in hydrogen peroxide for his lip. Arthur gasped suddenly, looking around. "Where's Dopey?"

"I have her!" Mary-Beth said quickly, coming over to them. "She's still sleeping." 

"Well it's past her bedtime. Here, I'll take her back," he said, and held his arms for the chicken.

They ended up bringing a large blanket out into the field to lay on. He was between Charles and Sadie, with Mary-Bet on the other side of her, and they were passing around a joint. His mind was growing hazy and he wasn't sure he had ever seen something as beautiful as the sky above them right then. Arthur shivered looking at it, an unexpectedly cool breeze dancing over them. No matter how hot the day was, the cold water that flowed down from the Appalachians always haunted the nighttime air. Even when it was too dark to see their age-old peaks, you could feel them in the breeze, a stern gaze you could not escape.   
"Wow," he exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching it unravel into the stars.

"Mhm," Mary-Beth mused. 

"Can't see 'em like this in the city." 

"No?"

"Huh-uh. But on real still nights, the light from the bridges and the buildings reflect real nice in the rivers. Boat'll come by and ripple it but it always smooths back over."

"You miss it," Charles observed. Arthur glanced over and he was already looking at him. The light from the moon was so bright that it laid heavily over his face, a glowing color. The other half of his face was completely hidden in shadow. Arthur exhaled and handed the joint to him. He took a hit without looking away, and Arthur remembered he was waiting for him to respond. 

"Yeah, I do."

"What do you miss the most?"

"My friends. All the little neighborhoods have their own personality. The food is real good too. But I'll tell ya, it's prettier out here than I ever woulda thought," he motioned up to the stars and took the joint back from Charles' outstretched hand. 

"It's very, very pretty," he agreed, but did not look away from him. Arthur coughed and used it as an excuse to break Charles' gaze. He watched the sky and his face felt warm.

* * *

Arthur woke with a start the next morning. The sky was a deep blue; the sun not quite rising yet, but coming. He sat up in a his moment of panic, confused and afraid. Everyone had still been asleep, but Charles stirred at the pull of the blanket. He mumbled something and rubbed at his eyes.  
"Huh?"

"Morning."

"Mornin'." Charles eyes' were puffy with sleep, his hair messy. He had one hand pressed against his sternum. It felt intensely private to see him like this. 

"Sshh," Said whispered.

Arthur poked at her side. "Gonna tell Jake you slept with another man." Sadie buried her face into her pillow and laughed softly. 

"Don't know that he'll be too worried about you stealing his wife," Mary-Beth murmured, voice heavy with sleep. Arthur scoffed in mock outrage but ended up laughing. 

They helped Charles clean up and said their goodbyes, Arthur promising to visit Sadie and Mary-Beth soon. He lingered in the doorway of Charles' house, watching him fold the blankets.   
"Hey Charles."

"Oh, hey Arthur." 

“How’s your hand?” 

He glanced down at the bandage. “Fine. Just happy it wasn't my right hand." 

“Yeah. Might take a bit to heal.”

”How’s your lip?”

”Ain’t nothin’. Can I uh, can I ask you somethin’?”

Charles paused, mid-fold. “Sure.”

Arthur swallowed. He was strangely nervous - could feel his pulse pounding in his chest. He'd thought of ten different ways to say it, but ended up just blurting it out.   
"Were you gonna kiss me last night?"

Charles opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Yeah." 

"Thought so." They looked at each other for a long moment. Arthur fiddled with the car key in his pocket. His face was sore. "Well, I'll seeya Monday."

"Later, Arthur."

He drove home with his heart in this throat. When he looked at his lip out in the rearview mirror, it was a dark purple around the split, like someone had pushed their painted mouth gently against his. 

Hosea was just opening the bait shop when he got back.   
"Sorry," he said quickly before Hosea could greet him. "Meant to bring it back last night, but I fell asleep. I'm sorry."

"What happened to your face?" he came quickly around the counter, reaching out to touch him. 

"What? Oh, nothing. Don't worry, I didn't get blood on your seats or nothin'."

Hosea looked at him like he had two heads. "Arthur I don't care about the car. What happened to you?"

"Told you, was nothin'. Just some bumpkin who don't know how to shut his mouth." Hosea took a step back from him and sighed. 

"You got in a fight?" Arthur shrugged and looked down at his feet. All the emotions of the past twelve hours were still sloshing around in his chest. "Arthur please tell me you're not doing jobs or anything out here."

He really tried not to hesitate in that moment. As a result, his words came out stumbling all over each other. Hosea watched him struggle with a stern eye. "No, no, of course, Hosea I wouldn't, I mean, it's not like..." Sometimes being interrupted was a blessing. He took a deep breath before he continued. "No, Hosea, it wasn't like that."

"So you haven't done none of that while you've been here?"

Arthur looked away out the window into the driveway, shrugging sharply. "Stole some chips when I forgot my wallet. Turned a trick when I was out the other day." They stood there like that for a long moment before Hosea's hand came up to rub his arm. 

"I'm not mad, Arthur. Just not while you're up here, okay? You know I respect and trust you but I gotta put John first." 

The words hurt then and they had hurt when Hosea was packing his bag two years before. The only difference was that Arthur understood them now. 

"What about me?" he'd asked back then, eyes stinging, then quickly amended it. "What about _us?"_

"You and Dutch are adults," he said without looking up from his suitcase. "John is a child and he needs someone to look out for him."

"We look out for him here! All of us!" 

"Arthur," he said sternly. If he had been paying attention, Arthur would've noticed his hands shaking as he held onto the sides of his suitcase. "John almost died last night."

"It ain't gonna happen again, I promise." He knelt down next to him and grabbed his arm. "I'm sorry, I'm real sorry. I didn't know who he was, I woulda never - !"

Hosea looked up so quickly that Arthur thought he was going to yell at him. His eyes were red and his mouth was a hard line carved jaggedly into his normally soft face. "This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? You did the right thing defending yourself. Nothing that has happened here is your fault."

Arthur was nineteen but felt like a child as hot, uninvited tears welled in his eyes. "Then why you leavin'?"

Hosea pulled him in and hugged him tight, but it felt final and terrifying more than it felt comforting. "Please come with us." 

Arthur cried into his shoulder because he could go with them and because he could not go with them, and because neither were the right decision. 

"Alright," Arthur said softly. The weight of Hosea's disappointment was heavier than he could carry. It always had been. "You need anything done around here?"

Hosea was quiet, but when Arthur did not look up at him he said, "Think John is wanting to go to Lenny's later, if you feel like taking him." 

"Nothing right now?" He was desperate to please Hosea, desperate to do anything except have to sit with the flood in his chest. 

"I'm sure Leopold has something you can do. He lives just across the street, up the hill a ways."

"Alright." 

Arthur left without looking at him. When he walked out onto the porch, he felt exposed under the fresh, sharp morning light. 

Leopold was getting ready to leave when Arthur knocked on the door. He wore a kippah and a brown day suit.   
"Hey Mr. Strauss."

"Hello Arthur."

"Hosea said you might have some stuff you needed help with."

"Oh," his eyebrows went up maybe a millimeter, the only indication that he was surprised. "That's very kind of you to offer. I'm on my way out, but I haven't gotten to mowing my lawn yet this week." 

"Sure, I can do that." 

"Wonderful, thank you. The lawn mower is in the garage." 

Arthur had just started the lawn mower when Leopold left. "Goodbye, Arthur," he called as he got into the car. 

"Bye Mr. Strauss." 

When Arthur was finished with that, Leopold still wasn't back. He'd shrugged off his crewneck at some point but slid it back on, damp as it was, to walk home. It was humid that day, and he was surprised to find the bait shop was busy. He recognized a few of people - Kieran, the guy who worked at the gas station, and Mickey, a veteran who stopped Arthur when he was in town one day - but the rest were strangers. He tried to sneak in past them when a hand shot out to grab his arm. He yanked himself out of the grasp without thinking and looked up to see a surprised Bill.   
"Sorry," he lowered his hand back to his side.

" 's alright," Arthur's hand was on the doorknob to continue into the house. 

"You stay the night there?" he asked, glancing down at his shirt. He didn't have the patience for this that morning. 

" _Yup_. We all did. You need somethin', Bill?"

"No yeah, I just meant..." he exhaled pointedly. "Can we talk for a minute?" Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He led Bill inside and poured himself a glass of water.

"Thirsty?" he asked over his shoulder. Just looking at him made Arthur want to shave his unattended to morning stubble. 

"Yeah, thanks."

They drank their water together in silence, Arthur growing hungry and irritated. "So you need somethin' Bill?" he asked again. 

"Oh yeah, yeah. I just wanted to say sorry about Micah last night."

"Alright."

"He's really not a bad guy." Arthur raised his eyebrow. "Not usually, anyway."

"Whatever you say." 

"And I'm not...I mean I don't care..." It would've been merciful to help him out, say he understood, but Arthur just sipped his water. "It doesn't make a difference to me, you being gay."

"Good for you."

Bill huffed. "Just didn't want you to think I'm the same as Micah." 

Arthur hadn't thought that, but he didn't particularly like Bill, so he didn't mention it. "Why do you care what I think anyway?"

Bill shrugged and fiddled with the brim of his baseball cap. "Seem like a cool guy, I guess. Figured I could help you with your truck if you ever need it." His response surprised Arthur a little bit. He paused and Bill ran a nervous hand over his beard. "Ya know what, forget I - !"

"Yeah, alright. Might take you up on that." 

"Oh. Yeah, alright then. Good. Sounds good."

"Be seein' you then, Bill," he said as a way of asking him to leave. 

"Yeah, sure. See you Arthur." 

Arthur exhaled when the shop door closed behind him, and went to take a much needed shower. When he took of his crewneck, he found it smelled like sweat and tonka. 

* * *

It was a long two days of Arthur waiting to see Charles again. He studied his book, poked at the truck, and went swimming in the river, but the hours still seemed to drag. He wondered if he should call him and then immediately decided against it. He was no stranger to nighttime desires curdling in the harsh morning light. He was laying on the back deck, scribbling about it in his journal, when the screen door slammed open. Arthur had barely been here a month, but he thought that sound would stick with him all his life - the slamming of the screen door, bringing with it the thick, sweet scent of the woods in summertime and the feeling of the sun on his face.   
" _Ar-thurrrrr,_ " John groaned, padding across the deck towards him. "I'm bored."

"Go run 'round till you get tired," he suggested without looking up.

"It's too hot for that." 

It had grown unbearably humid over the past day. Arthur was more or less used to it - the three rivers in the city made the heat there dripping and oppressive too - but that made it no more pleasant. "I don't know John, go jump in the river." 

"Come on, let's do something." 

"What do you think we can get into 'round here?" he asked sincerely. It would help to keep his mind off Charles to do anything besides laying there and lamenting.

"Over in Sharpsburg there's a record store..." he suggested, scratching his chin to make it seem like he'd just thought of it and hadn't been planning it all along. 

"Better ask Hosea." 

Fifteen minutes later, he and John were riding down the road in Hosea's car, windows open with the _Beach Boys_ tape playing. In the short time he'd had it, John had memorized every work of _Pet Sounds_. They were yelling along to _Wouldn't it be Nice_ , loud and off-key. At the house, John had walked out of his room proudly, his best pair of jeans sliced haphazardly above the knee. Hosea sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.   
" _Why_ John?" 

"Arthur wears 'em like this! Why can't I?" 

Hosea's face had broken into a wild grin for only a moment before he was frowning again, trying to be stern. "Gonna have to cut them a lot higher to be like Arthur."

"Hey!" he'd interjected, tugging at the bottom of his shorts defensively. "Ain't that short. This is how people wear 'em." Arthur had on a yellow button down shirt loosely tucked into the shorts, little smiley faces dangling from his ears, and his white sneakers. 

"Can I get my ears pierced?" John had asked next. 

Hosea turned to Arthur. "You've created a monster." 

Now John was insisting they take turns with Arthur's sunglasses and he was getting annoyed.  
"I'm _drivin_ ' John, get the hell off." He pushed Johns face away from where he'd been reaching for them. John sighed dramatically and went limp in his seat. Arthur relished in the ensuing few minutes of quiet, humming along to the music as they got on the highway. 

"Arthur?" John asked. His tone of voice got his attention, and he turned the music down. 

"Yeah?"

"Does Dutch talk about me?"

Arthur always hesitated before he lied. "Course he does." 

John sighed, clearly unconvinced. "He never calls." The hurt in his voice hit somewhere deep in Arthur. He grimaced and shrugged. 

"He ain't much for the phone. Ain't about you." 

"He called _you_."

"That was different, it was about work." John mumbled something that sounded like _whatever_ and leaned his head against the window, letting the wind whip over his face. "Don't worry about Dutch alright? You got it good out here. This is where you wanna be, with Hosea. I promise."

"If it's so great why won't you stay?"

Arthur was quiet for a long time. He drummed his fingers on the wheel. "It's just different, John. You're gonna have to trust me."

"Why should I? You're a liar."

"What are you talkin' 'bout?"

"You said we'd see each other all the time still."

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry. But I'm here now, ain't I? Come on, we can have a fun day." 

"You're here for now. Then you're gonna leave and I'm not ever gonna see you again." 

"Now that just ain't true," he said sharply and John fell silent. "Here," he took off his aviators and held them out to John. He didn't smile, but he did take them and put them on. They were way too big on him and slipped down his nose. Arthur drove the rest of the way squinting against the sun. 

By the time they parked in Sharpsburg, he'd coaxed John back into a good mood.   
"They have everything here," he sighed, gazing at the busy street. Sharpsburg was a small town, but it was certainly bigger than Bushkill. Arthur was underwhelmed. 

"I guess," he trailed behind John, keeping a careful eye on him. There was probably nothing to worry about, but it was habit. As if he was thinking the same thing, John stopped and looked up at him. 

"Can we do like we did in Pittsburgh?"

Arthur sighed. "You're a lot heavier than you used to be." 

John clutched his hands together in a pleading gesture. "Please please please please please please plea - !"

"Fine. But I want my sunglasses back."

Arthur got his glasses back and John was seated happily on his shoulders. They had gone around just like this before the split - before things got bad, when they were still allowed to be kids. They'd walk downtown together and John would point out boats from the bridges. Arthur had made up silly names for them all, and realized he'd never corrected John.   
"Hey, what do you call those big, long boats we used to see? That carried garbage?"

"A trash blaster," he said immediately. Arthur bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

"That's right!" 

The record store was kind of small, but they had a huge collection of tapes. They took up the entire back wall and the shelves were nearly as tall as Arthur. They stared in amazement.   
"I don't know what to get," John said in an almost panicked tone of voice.

"It's fine, it's fine. There's no rush."

"How many can I get?"

"Depends," he said, counting the money Hosea had given them simply for giving him an afternoon to himself. "You wanna get ice cream after?"

"Obviously," John said, rolling his eyes. 

"Alright big shot. We can each get five." 

The pair stood there and looked for a long time. Arthur was trying to choose between _Green Day_ and _T_ _he Rolling Stones_ when he overheard the people next to him.   
"No dude," the larger boy, maybe fifteen, said, " _ABBA_ 's for homos." 

Like it had burned him, the smaller boy immediately put the tape back. Arthur waited until they'd walked away before he reached out and snatched it. He'd heard of _ABBA_ but couldn't recall a song he knew by them. In a strange fit of defensiveness over things for homos, he bought it. 

"What'd you get?" he asked John once they were back outside and he was on Arthur's shoulders. 

"Uhh, I got _NSYNC_ , _Wu-Tang Clan_ , _Blink-182_ , and uhh..." he opened his bag and it smacked Arthur In the face, knocking his aviators to the ground. A lens popped out. 

"God dammit John," he put him down and picked them up. 

"It's okay, you can wear mine." John pulled a smaller pair of sunglasses from the bag. 

"Where'd you get those?"

John averted his gaze and stuffed them back into his bag. "No where."

"John did you steal those?"

"I saw you steal that nail polish!" he shouted, and Arthur shushed him. 

"Alright, Jesus, keep it down." 

"If you tell Hosea I'm telling." 

"Who taught you to be a nark?" Arthur popped the lens back into his glasses and put John back on his shoulders. 

"Now, to ice cream!" he shouted, yanking on Arthur's hair, "Mush!" 

"John," he growled, digging his nails into John's calves, "I've thrown you from this height before, I'll do it again." 

John laughed and they walked towards the ice cream parlor. "Look, now we match," he said proudly. Arthur craned his neck to see him wearing his new sunglasses. The did look a lot like his own.   
"You're a little scab, you know that?" but he was smiling. They walked back to the car with chocolate ice cream cones, and Arthur barely even got angry when John dripped a glob of it onto his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt like Leopold was Jewish-coded in a kind of crappy way, so I wanted to make that a little better. I also think people who relentlessly shit on him are kind of hypocritical. Your fave is a literal murderer (so is mine but like. chill on Leopold)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a couple (mostly) light and smutty chapters

The next morning, Arthur was waiting on the porch like he had that first day. He was smoking a cigarette and wearing and a lavender _YMCA_ shirt that fell just above the waistband of his black running shorts. Sitting with his legs dangling over the edge, he watched John run to the minivan. Just after, Charles' truck rolled into the driveway. Arthur fiddled with his silver hoop earrings and tried to look casual. Charles wore his hair braided back away from his face and he didn't look at Arthur until he was right in front of him.   
"Hey." 

"Hey."

"I'm sorry about Friday."

"What for?"

"Just...everything. Micah, the uh, ya know...when we were in the house."

Arthur took a drag. He could leave it right there, he knew. Charles wouldn't bring it up again and Arthur wouldn't have any loose ends left here. It was the smart thing to do.  
"Ain't got nothin' to be sorry for," he said pointedly, looking right into Charles' eyes. He watched the other man's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"Nothing?"

"Huh-uh."

He stared at Arthur intensely for a moment, like he was gonna do it right then. Arthur smiled and slipped off the porch. "C'mon, let's build this shed." 

The humidity had built and built to the point that Arthur felt like he'd just walked through a hot bath. His shirt stuck to him and his hair was soaked. Charles was not much better off, taking frequent breaks to fan himself with a leaf. The shed was coming along well - the foundation was all up, only the wall and ceiling left to build. Arthur was taking a break, drinking the lemonade Hosea had made them, when he felt a cool breeze coming off the river. He groaned, and Charles dropped the hammer he'd been holding.   
"I'm done," Arthur announced. "Nearly noon anyway and it's too fucking hot for this." 

"Yeah," Charles agreed, and they put away the tools together. When they were done, Charles turned toward the house but Arthur began walking into the woods. "Hey, where are you going?"

Arthur looked over his shoulder at him. "Swimmin'. Bet the water's real cold." 

Charles stopped but didn't walk after him. Arthur shrugged and turned back towards the woods. He pulled his shirt off and left it draped over a tree branch, and did not need to look to know Charles was following. 

While walking the property, Arthur had come across this wide, deep, slow bend in the river. In the lush summer foliage, you couldn't see anything beyond the little bank. Low hanging trees and tall brush nestled it fully. The sunlight could only just break down in through the leaves.   
"Hm," Charles murmured, following him through the branches, "I never knew this was here." 

"It's real private, found it by accident."

Charles didn't respond. Arthur kicked off his shoes and socks. His hands hovered over his waistband, deciding. He wasn't trying to be subtle so, with his back to the other man, Arthur let his shorts and underwear drop to his ankles and stepped into the water. It was incredible - cool and calm and clear. He dove under and came back up with a gasp. Pushing his hair back away from his face, he looked back to Charles standing at the bank, watching him.  
"Come on! It's real nice," he smiled, thrilled from the cold touching every inch of him. When Charles didn't respond, Arthur shrugged. "Or you can go back to the house. Sure Hosea has a sandwich or somethin' for ya." 

Arthur turned his back to him to give him some privacy. He dragged his fingertips across the water and wondered why this moment felt so new. He'd done this song and dance a hundred times. Still, his heart hammered away in his throat. He didn't hear Charles enter the water, didn't notice he had until the water rippled around him. He turned to see him standing there with the river up to his waist. Arthur didn't try to hide his looking. Charles was wide and thick like a tree trunk, and the dark hair that covered his chest ran down his full, soft stomach and into the water. He had unbraided his hair, and it was the first time Arthur had seen it fully down. It was so long it touched his ribs, and it made the normally soft features of his face more dramatic. They looked at each other for a long moment. Arthur's mouth watered.   
"I've never done this before," he said very suddenly. 

"What?" Arthur asked, but he knew what. "Swam?"

Charles gave him an unamused look. "I'm serious, Arthur." 

"Alright. We ain't gotta do nothin' if you don't want." 

"No, no," he said too quickly. "That's not it." 

Arthur took a step towards him. Charles was watching him closely. "We can start real slow," he whispered. "Let me take care of you. Yeah?"

Charles swallowed. "Yeah." 

Arthur ran his hand down Charles' arm, feeling where tight muscle met soft flesh. He took a piece of his long hair and tucked it behind his ear, let his fingers rest there. Charles turned his face into the touch, brushed his lips over the palm of his hand. Arthur leaned in, careful not to touch their pelvises together, and kissed him on the shoulder, then on the neck, then on the jaw, then on the temple. His skin smelled like sunscreen and was soft against his face. His eyelashes were so long that when he closed his eyes, they brushed against Arthur's cheek. Finally, Charles turned his face and looked down at him one more time before kissing him fully. Arthur breathed him in, delighted to find that his lips were soft but his kiss insistent. 

As if he just remembered he had them, Charles wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him in. More than even the canopy of trees all around them, Arthur felt cloaked by his embrace. As far as he was concerned there was no world left beyond it - the mountain they were standing on could finally tumble back into the sea and he would be none the wiser. With their bodies flush together he could feel Charles growing hard against him. His hand drifted down to cup Arthur's ass tightly, kneading into it. Arthur opened his mouth against his, tongue running over Charles' bottom lip, tasted lemonade and sweat and coconut oil. Slowly, like you'd approach a wild animal you didn't want to spook, Charles dipped his fingers in between their two bodies.   
"Can I touch you?" he whispered against Arthur's mouth. No one had ever asked him before. He exhaled a soft _yeah._

His touch was clumsy but very attentive. Charles watched Arthur's face, eyes black like rich, rain-soaked soil, noticing when he gasped and when he clutched Charles' hair a little tighter. Quickly, much more quickly than he meant to, Arthur shuddered, moans a broken noise in the back of his throat, his face pressed up against Charles' collarbone. When he glanced up Charles was already looking down at him. He ran his thumb over Arthur's bottom lip.  
"Yeah?" he asked, voice low but close to teasing. 

Arthur responded by guiding him back to lean against a large boulder. The water was more shallow there; Arthur could comfortably get to his knees at Charles' feet. He looked a little startled when he realized what was happening. Arthur ran his hands over his thighs and stared up at him.   
"This okay?" 

"Yeah," he breathed. 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah, I just..." he ran his hand through Arthur's hair, held a fistful of it gently. "Yeah, please, yeah." 

Arthur smiled and began stroking him with his hand, chin pressed into his thigh so he could watch the way his eyes fluttered shut. "Been thinkin' about this."

"What?" his voice was a little high, almost sounding frazzled in his arousal.

"Been thinkin' about what you'd look like when I was touchin' you - ever since that day we met."

Arthur took him into his mouth until he felt him touch his throat, and wrapped his fingers around the rest of him. He had always enjoyed giving head - the inherit possessiveness of it, having someone writhe above you, even just the physical sensation of it - but wrapping his lips around Charles was entirely different. He wasn't sure it made sense to get butterflies in that moment, but that's what he got when he began bobbing his head and Charles whined. Too slowly, he slid down his length and licked at the delicate spot underneath his head, then dragged his tongue back up.   
"Arthur," he begged, pulling ever so gently at his hair. Arthur opened his mouth wide at the end of his dick, tongue just barely touching it - an invitation. Charles took it, began thrusting down Arthur’s throat. His fist tightened in his hair to the point that it bordered on painful and Arthur felt spit dribble out the sides of his mouth and down his chin. He was almost embarrassed at how he moaned around his dick, only interrupted by his gagging when Charles hit the back of his throat. Carefully so it wouldn’t surprise him, Arthur slipped his hand up between his thighs. He used his knuckle to gently rub at the place behind his balls and Charles, free hand white-knuckled against the boulder, made a noise so low and guttural it sounded agonized. Arthur pulled off of him but never stopped moving his hand, planting a few gentle kisses on his thigh.  
"Ssh," he teased, breathless. "Somebody gonna think I'm killin' you." 

Charles was lost in his bliss, head thrown back, hair like spilled ink behind him. The light that broke through the leaves above them fell onto his body as if not even the sun could bare not touching him.  
"You are," he managed to say. Arthur took one more moment to admire the man above him before he began using his mouth again. He went faster, only gently rubbing him with his knuckle so it wouldn’t be too much, until Charles groaned and the muscles of his legs tensed. Arthur tightened his grip just a little and felt him finish down his throat, hips thrusting into his mouth even as he did. He swallowed eagerly, eyes glued to Charles’ face. He looked beautiful when he finished; like a wave of relief had just hit him after terrible pain. When he sat back, spent, against the boulder, Arthur continued peppering little kisses all over his thighs.  
Instead of pulling Arthur up, Charles knelt down with him in the water. He took Arthur's face in his hands and looked at him like he'd never seen anything more wonderful then his manhandled hair and red mouth, and kissed him. The water that flowed around them had rushed down through hilltops older than time. The stone under their feet was the bedrock that watched life leave the seas. There was nothing to do in the face of such antiquity but to be baptized in it. 

They walked back to the house together, clothes damp because they put them back on too quickly. As they went, Charles gently touched Arthur's lower back and gave him a tiny, happy smile. More than anything else they'd done, it felt wildly intimate. They tried to go in through the front door but Hosea yelled at them to go wait on the back porch.  
"If you boys want to go for a swim ask for a towel next time," he'd grumbled. He did not mention that they were an hour late. They all ate together on the back porch, and Arthur stayed for the whole meal. 

* * *

Finally, Arthur got the truck to turn on.   
"HA!" he yelled so loudly that a bird flew from it's perch on the house. It was growling and angry, but it was on. He'd had to give it a jump, it definitely needed a new battery, but it was _on._ He felt like crying. With the air on and windows down he could finally bare to get in. It was very dirty but the seats were mostly intact. He put his new _Best of ABBA_ tape in to test out the speakers and it came out loud and only a little scratchy. He recognized the synthesizer beat immediately. They used to play it at the club he went to in the city. The kids at the record store had been right - it _was_ homo music. He sang along poorly, picking up trash from the back seat.   
_"Where they play the right music, getting in the swing, you come to look for a king!"_

The door Arthur had been leaning against opened and he nearly fell face first into John.   
"You little fuckin' twerp," he grunted, catching himself against the seat just in time. 

"It's on!" he shouted over the music, pushing up past Arthur and stepping on him. 

" _Ow._ Jesus, yeah, it's on." 

John climbed happily into the passenger seat and looked around. "It's gross in here! Who is this?" he pointed at the stereo. 

" _ABBA_." 

"I like it!" 

"Here," he shoved his bag of trash into John's hands. "If you're gonna be in here you can help me." 

"Will you take Lenny and me to the park later?"

"If you shut up and let me do what I need to do, yes." 

John did the _zip your lips_ motion and started talking again thirty seconds later. 

Arthur stood out of Hosea's car as soon as he put it into park at the playground. He did not think it was physically possible to talk more than John, but Lenny definitely rivaled him.   
" - and then when we got to the apiary, they showed us the queen! The _queen!_ She was huge! She had these big - !" 

"Alright kid," Arthur patted Lenny's head in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Y'all go play now." 

They obeyed, flinging themselves onto the jungle gym so forcefully the metal swayed. Even still John was blasting his _Blink-182_ tape through the headphones that were always discarded around his neck. Arthur found a nice, shady spot nearby under a tree and pulled out his journal. He spilled out a few clumsy lines about Charles and the truck before he fell back to drawing. He had about ten different sketches of Charles' lips, all in varying levels of completion. He started doodling them after the bonfire, but they never came out quite right. He'd moved onto Charles' eyes when he heard John yell.   
He glanced up only minutely, watching but saying nothing. He thought John could stand to get shoved, just a little. An older child, maybe thirteen, was holding the walkman above John's head. John was jumping to try and reach it, yelling _"Cleet!"_ Arthur glanced around for his adult but they were the only ones around. The child had a friend next to him, jeering at Lenny and blocking him from helping John.   
" _Hey!"_ he shouted sharply, using his meanest adult voice. "Give that back to him. Now." 

They all looked up immediately, a little spooked. The child, Cleet, quickly regained his composure and sneered, "Who are you?"

'That's my brother and if you don't gimme my walkman back he's gonna kick your ass!" John threatened, his hands on his hips in a way that was far too reminiscent of the way Arthur stood when he was annoyed. 

Cleet looked at him with a recognition that Arthur didn't understand. "Yeah _right_ , what's your faggy brother gonna do?"

Arthur scoffed, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. He thought he was dressed pretty conservatively in his full length shirt.  
"I'm gonna ask you nice one more time." 

"If you want it come and get it homo!" 

Arthur sighed, stubbing his cigarette out on the ground and walking towards them. Cleet's friend shook his shoulder.   
"Just give it back dude, he's big." 

"Shut up Joe," he growled. When he was within reaching distance, Arthur smacked away his fist and put him in a headlock. 

"Hey!" Joe said, lunging at them. Arthur used his free hand to grab his head and his arms were just too short to reach Arthur at that distance. 

"Now give my brother back his walkman," Cleet dropped it and John reached out to catch it, a wild grin on his face. "And say sorry." 

"Sorry," he gasped. Arthur let go of him and he fell to the ground coughing. Arthur rolled his eyes - he hadn't been holding him that hard. 

"Let's get goin' now," he told John and Lenny. They made their way to the car, but not before John could double back and kick Joe in the shin.

Lenny stayed for dinner that night. John was on a power trip, giving Hosea a play-by-play as soon as they sat down at the table. He was trying to be stern at first, telling John that he should always use his words and find an adult if something like that happens again. But Lenny pointed out that he had done just that, and Hosea couldn't help but to laugh.  
They ate meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. It was really good; warm, heavy comfort food he could remember Hosea making before the split.   
"You sure cook a lot, Mr. Matthews," Lenny observed. 

"I do," he agreed, wiping his mouth. "Does your mom mostly cook in your house." 

"Yeah, but my dad likes to use the grill." 

"Is he any good?" 

Lenny paused before deciding, "No, he really isn't. He always burns my hotdog." 

Hosea laughed. "Well I promise this weekend I won't burn your hotdogs."

"What's goin' on this weekend?" Arthur asked. 

"Oh, I promised John and Lenny I'd take them out on the lake for a couple days. Lenny's parents have a fishing boat."

"My dad bought it when he went through his mid life crisis." 

"Who told you that?" 

"My mom." 

"Well," Hosea continued, "that reminds me. Will you watch the shop while we're gone?"

"Unless you wanna come," Lenny said quietly, glancing up at Arthur from the corner of his eye. 

"Nah, I'll watch the shop."

John looked up suddenly from a rare moment of quiet thought. "Hosea?"

"Hm?"

"What's 'faggy' mean?"

He and Arthur stopped chewing. "Uh, where'd you hear that?" 

"Cleet said it today."

"About?"

"Arthur."

Arthur didn't look up from his food though he could feel Hosea glance at him. _He_ certainly wasn't going to be the one to explain homophobia to two eleven year olds.   
"He said 'homo' too," Lenny added. 

"Yeah, what's a homo?" 

"It's a very mean thing to say to someone and you shouldn't repeat it." 

"Oh." 

Arthur wondered distantly why being 'faggy' had to be bad. Hosea sighed.   
"You know how..." Arthur could almost see the gears turning in Hosea's head as he tried to think of a healthy heterosexual relationship in John's life, "how Lenny's mom and dad love each other?" 

"Yeah."

"My dad got my mom roses last week." 

"That's nice Lenny. Sometimes men get other men roses like that. Sometimes women do that for women."

"Why? Cause they're married?" 

"No, not really. Because they love each other like Lenny's parents love each other." 

"Oh." There was a silence filled only by the scrape of their forks and the sound of their chewing.

"Is that bad?" Lenny asked eventually. 

"No, no," Hosea said quickly. "Some people say it is, but it isn't."

"Oh." 

"Is Arthur gay?" John asked. Hosea looked to him for direction. 

"Yeah." 

"Oh. Is Charles your boyfriend?"

Arthur choked a little on his mashed potatoes. "Huh?" 

"Charles. Smith," he added. 

" _Yeah_ I know who you're talkin' bout. Why you sayin' that?" John shrugged defensively.

"He's here all the time and you guys look at each other funny." Hosea snorted behind his napkin.

"Fuck off, John."

"You _do!"_

Arthur rolled his eyes and stood to rinse off his plate. 

Most nights after Arthur read to John, he would came back out into the living room to spend time with Hosea. Normally they just sat together and watched TV or played Scrabble. He was suspicious when he walked out that evening and there was tea made.  
”You like honey in your tea?”

”Don’t really drink tea.”

“I’ll give you some honey.”

Arthur sat at the table in front of the one of the mugs. “What’s the occasion?”

”Hm? No occasion.” 

Arthur hadn’t ever been able to tell when Hosea was lying. He didn’t have a single tell. “Alright.”

Hosea took his mug and stirred some honey in before handing it back to him. “John is loving having you here.”

“Yeah it’s good to see that little bastard again.”

”You seem to be getting along with Charles.”

Arthur shifted around in his seat. Unlike Hosea, Arthur had many tells, most of which Hosea knew. ”You do a lot of business in that shop of yours come winter?”

”You’re very bad at that.”

“What?”

”Changing the topic subtly.” 

“Wasn’t doin’ that.”

“Fine. What would you like to talk about, Arthur?”

He knew what he meant although he wanted to play stupid. The two of them had a lot to talk about.   
“We got to?" 

"I'd like to. How about you let me start?" For someone who had spent so much of his life lying and tricking, Hosea dealt with interpersonal problems very directly. It was one of the things that had always kept Dutch level. 

Arthur pressed his fingers against the hot mug until it burned a little. "Alright." 

"I think you should get your GED."  Arthur rolled his eyes and Hosea snapped his fingers in his face, brow furrowed. "Stop it, Arthur. This is important." 

"Can't just walk in and grab one." 

"I'll pay for it."

"That ain't it."

Hosea leaned forward, trying to make Arthur look him in the eye. "Then what is it?"

"I won't pass. Been out of school for years now." 

"If you study you'll be just fine."

"I tried before," he admitted quietly.

For a couple of years, an elderly Italian man in Bloomfield would pay Arthur once a month to draw on his storefront window. Arthur stood out there for hours sometimes, drawing and redrawing loaves of bread. The old man, Frank, was very particular about them. He insisted that they had to look so realistic that people walking by got hungry just looking at them. Once, Arthur tried to shade it without his explicit direction and Frank threw a stale loaf of bread at his head.   
Apart from the baked goods, he let Arthur draw whatever he wanted. It had been October, so he drew a big oak tree hanging over a picnic table where piles of Frank's bread was laid out. If Arthur wanted to use a color that wasn't red, black, brown, or green, he had to get it himself. The orange and yellow that he had bought just for this tree had cost more than what he was being paid to do it. He was carefully coloring in the leaves when someone stopped behind him.   
"Wow." 

Arthur looked over his shoulder. The woman standing there was probably about thirty-five, and had her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her trousers. She was staring at the window.   
"Bread's a dollar a loaf." 

"I don't eat gluten," she said absentmindedly, taking a step past Arthur to look at the lines of the tree. "Did you draw all of this?" 

Arthur looked from her to the window. "Yup."

"Where do you go? Point Park?" 

"Oh I ain't in school, ma'am." 

"But you've taken art classes?"

"Nah. Just like drawin'." 

She blinked, surprised. She was wearing a crossbody bag and dug through it for a business card. "Here. I work for the art department at Carnegie Mellon. We have an introductory drawing class that's open to the public, call me about it on Monday." 

"Ain't got time to be takin' classes just cause I feel like it," he grumbled, ignoring the business card.

"You're talented," she said plainly. "Especially being self taught. If you take the class I could help you build a portfolio."

"What's a portfolio?"

"It's a collection of an artist's best work."

He blushed at the implication that he was any kind of artist. "What would I do with that?"

The woman sighed pointedly and glanced at her watch. "If you have a portfolio you can sent it to schools. You'd get a lot of offers, I'm sure of it. You have your GED right?" 

Arthur ducked his head, staring at the paint he'd gotten on his hands. "Nah." 

"Oh," she paused for a moment, business card still held out to him. "Well, get it. Then call me." 

"Don't count on it," he'd huffed, but he signed up for the test later that week. He was waiting till he passed to tell Dutch, so no one ever found out Arthur had even tried. 

"I didn't pass. I'm real bad at science."

"You can try again. I'll get you a tutor. I know a teacher in Sharpsburg who owes me a favor. Several favors, actually."

"Ain't got time for all that." 

"Maybe you stay a little longer," he suggested nonchalantly.

"Hosea..."

"Then you can go back to Pittsburgh _with_ your GED." 

"You know I can't stay." 

"I do not know that, actually," he said a bit sharply. "I do not know that at all."

Arthur stared down at the tea he hadn't so much as tasted yet. It was green but only gently so, and smelled sweet. His throat was tight and he tried to swallow against it. "Ain't fair when y'all do this to me." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Make me choose."

Hosea sighed, leaning back in his chair. He was quiet for a couple of minutes, taking the occasional drink of his tea. "Remember when we first picked you up?" 

"Course." 

"Dutch brought you home in the rain, both of you soaking wet, grinning like he'd just found a puppy," Hosea smiled just a little, looking out the window.  
"We'd only been back on the streets for a few months. After you went to sleep that first night, we sat down and decided you would go to school while we got some money together. We had a _number._ We had a _plan_. We were gonna..." he trailed off, gesturing towards the bait shop. "We were gonna do this. You remember. Dutch wanted to do it in Florida with mangoes and I wanted to do it in the mountains with fish." 

"What happened?" Arthur asked quietly. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that Dutch had stop talking about the house and the mangos, only that at some point it had begun to change. 

"Dutch is a good person," he started, to Arthur's surprise. He'd heard them fight at the end. He hadn't thought Hosea believed that. "He is, under it all. He always was. When we started running together we were always going to riots and marches, doing community aid. Even when we started doing jobs we always spread it around."

"But?"

"But we were getting older and our stints in jail were getting longer every time. When he brought you home it was perfect." Hosea reached across the table and put his hand over Arthur's for a moment. "You were perfect. We were gonna raise you proper, just as soon as we had the money. Then he started adding things. _Just a little more, Hosea. We're almost there._ Then we picked John up and so that was a little more we needed. Then it was Karen, then Mac and Davey, but we still hadn't done right by you. I told him we couldn't save everybody and he told me I was giving up."

Arthur stared down into his mug. He was terrified of upsetting Hosea, but _he_ was the one who wanted to talk. "Then you did."

"What?"

"You gave up on us."

Hosea was quiet. Arthur could feel his gaze but did not look to meet it. "Is that what Dutch says?"

Arthur hesitated. "No. That's what I say." 

"I know that's what it feels like," he admitted quietly. "I know. I'm sorry I left you there, Arthur. I want so badly for you to be here with us." 

"Dutch is the one who took me in," he shot back defensively. His hand was curled into a fist on the table to try and keep his voice steady as he looked into Hosea's eyes. "Not you. Weren't for him I'd probably be dead." 

"And you've nearly died countless times for him ever since. Is that fair?" 

"Well it certainly ain't fair to run off on him when things get tough like you did. That's selfish." 

" _Selfish_?" he challenged, eyebrows high. "It was _selfish_ to take John out of that situation? To try and take you out of it too? Fine then, it was selfish. Call it what you want. But if there is one thing you need to be selfish with, Arthur, it's your life. You put your head on the block for Dutch without a second thought and," his voice shook, "one of these days the axe is going to fall."

"Arthur is going to die?" a small voice asked from the hallway. They both looked up to see John standing there. His eyes were squinted against the light and he had his comforter wrapped tightly around him, pooling on the floor around his feet. Neither of them spoke for a moment. 

"We're all going to die, John," Hosea said eventually. This wasn't news to the eleven year old - they had all wrangled with death from a very young age. 

"Is Dutch going to kill him? Is that what you said?"

"No," Arthur said quickly. John ignored him, looking at Hosea. 

"Is he?" 

"I just told you -!" Arthur tried to say.

"You lie. Hosea, is Artie gonna die?"

"I told you when we left Pittsburgh that Dutch's life is very dangerous." 

John padded further into the room. "So then you should stay with us. You'll be safe with us." 

"I can't." 

"Why not?" 

"Cause I said so," he grunted and stood up from the table. "C'mon, I'll read to you again." 

John glared at him. "No, I want Hosea." 

Arthur tried to ignore the blooming jealousy in his chest while Hosea followed John back to his room. He didn't say anything else and once the door closed behind them, Arthur fled to his room. 

* * *

The shed building slowed considerably after that day they went swimming. They would always start the day responsibly. Charles began getting there a little early and they would all have coffee together. Then they would go out and do maybe an hour of honest work before Charles' hands were at his waist. They only touched in private, which was fine by Arthur - this was new and sweet and he wanted to keep it all for himself for as long as he could. He couldn't remember a time in his life that was ever this blissful. On Friday morning, they were chasing that bliss against a tree in the woods. Arthur's _Joan Jett_ tape was playing in the boom box, barely covering the sound of him crooning, fists full of Charles' hair and shirt. Charles was panting, pressing kisses up his neck with his hand down Arthur's pants.   
"You're so pretty like this," he murmured, nibbling Arthur's ear. "So pretty when you're close." Arthur, unable to form words, his body burning from the inside out, merely whimpered. He could feel Charles' smile against the skin of his neck. "What? You gonna come for me?"

"Charles," he managed to pant, when suddenly _Crimson and Clover_ stopped. The men froze. The boom box was behind their tree near the shed, so they couldn't see what had happened, but they did not have to wonder for long.

"You boys back there?" Hosea called. 

"Don't come over here!" Arthur yelled quickly, pushing Charles' hand out of his shorts and trying to straighten his clothes. 

"I wasn't planning on it," Hosea chuckled. After a moment, they came out to see him next to the boom box, examining the unfinished project.  
"So," he said slowly, turning to look at them, "that's why my shed isn't done yet."

Arthur knew he face was bright red and his hair a mess, so he didn't make eye contact with his uncle. Instead, he stared up into the trees.   
"Yeah," he said finally. "Sorry Hosea." 

"Sorry Mr. Matthews," Charles repeated. Arthur was embarrassed, but Charles looked mortified. His wide eyes stared at the ground. Confused, Arthur elbowed him. 

" 's alright," he said in a low voice. Charles didn't respond.

"Well, I came out here to tell you Javier is on the phone." 

Arthur brightened immediately. "Javier? Been waitin' to talk to them. C'mon Charles, I'll let introduce you to - !"

"No, no," Hosea reached out to grab Charles' shoulder when they tried to walk by him. "You go on in, Arthur. Charles and I need to have a little talk." 

The young men exchanged a look. Charles seemed properly scared, but stood up straight and squared his shoulders.   
"It's alright. We'll be in." 

"You sure?"

"Yeah." 

"Alright," Arthur relented, then looked at Hosea. "Be nice to him will ya?"

"Wash your hands before you touch my phone," he said instead of answering.

The phone was waiting for him on the counter. He grabbed it and was about to start talking, but listened for a moment instead. Javier was speaking in Spanish with Tilly, which Arthur could understand only about half of. She'd picked it up much faster than him. He heard the all too familiar sound of a bong bubbling and Sean's loud cough. There was music playing - something quick and upbeat and fun, not Dutch's classical big band pieces. He wondered if they'd waited until he was gone to call Arthur.   
"Javier!" he finally called out, and there was a quick scramble. 

"Get _off!"_ he heard Tilly say. 

"I'm the one who found the number!" That was Sean. 

"Stop or you're gonna - !" the phone clicked off and Arthur felt intensely homesick for the first time. He put it back on the hook to wait for them to call back, which only took about fifteen seconds. 

"Hey!" Arthur exclaimed as soon as he picked it up. 

A chorus of _hi'_ s came back to him. "You're on speaker!" Sean called out. 

"And Dutch ain't here!" Karen confirmed. 

"And Sean broke the bong." 

"I did _not - !"_

"Awe," Arthur laughed, "I miss y'all." 

"God you got soft fast," Javier teased. Arthur heard someone smack them. 

"We miss you too!" Tilly reassured him. "When are you coming back?"

"Soon, soon. How is everything? How's Dutch?" There was a long stretch of quiet. "That bad, huh?"

"He's gotten worse since you left," Sean finally said. There was a murmur of agreement. Arthur felt a cold ball of guilt form in his stomach. 

"Worse how?" 

"Real suspicious. Reckless." 

"He's talking about robbing the O'Driscolls," Karen finally admitted. 

" _Colm?_ Why?"

"The house got raided," Javier said. "We got everything out before they got here, but..." 

"Now he's real paranoid," Karen finished for him. 

"And he thinks it was Colm?"

"Yeah..."

" _Yeah?"_ he snapped. 

"Or you," Sean blurted out. Someone shushed him. 

" _Me?"_

"It's just because of the timing, you didn't do nothing," Tilly assured him. Arthur didn't respond, his mind racing. How could Dutch ever think that?

"We could really use you for this job, Arthur," Javier said. "And then Dutch wouldn't doubt you anymore." 

"Shouldn't doubt me in the first place." 

"I know." 

He took a long moment to answer. "I'll see what I can do." 

"Thanks Arthur." 

They talked for a few more minutes before he heard a door open and they all fell quiet. "Talk to you later," Tilly whispered, and Arthur didn't need to ask who had just walked in. 

"Bye Tilly." 

The line clicked off but Arthur stood there with the phone in his hand, thinking, until Charles came through the door. He must've seen something in Arthur's face, because his forehead creased with worry.   
"Hey."

"Hey, you alright?" Charles came around the counter to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Arthur looked from the phone to Charles' hand to his face. He was warm and comforting and Arthur leaned into him. Simple and small as it was, the gesture pulled his head out from under the water. He wanted to tell him more, but didn't know where to begin. There hadn't been many serious conversations since they'd fallen into each other. He wanted to keep it that way, if he could. Keep Charles clean and honest and good. 

"Yeah. _You_ alright?" 

Charles looked dubious but didn't push it. "Yeah, yeah. He's out there deciding what equipment we're gonna install for him."

"We're doin' what now?" 

"Yeah," Charles laughed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I owe him for, how'd he say it, 'getting frisky with his nephew on the job.' "

" _God._ What else he say?"

"He said I should tread lightly. That he didn't want you hurt again like when I asked you about...well, you know." 

"Ha," he tried to shrug it off. "No, no, that wasn't nothin', he don't - ." 

"I'm still sorry about that, Arthur." 

Arthur looked up at him, could see his sincerity plain on his face. "I know. 'm sorry Hosea found out about us how he did. Was that...was that your first time comin' out?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding surprised at himself. "Guess it was." 

"Huh. When you start likin' men?" 

"I didn't know it then, but I watched Prince do the Grammy's in '85 and threw a fit until my dad bought me his poster. I think that was the first time." Arthur laughed, reaching up to cover Charles' hand with his own.

"I think he'd be proud to have been your sexual awakenin'." Charles rolled his eyes. "When's the first time you _knew_ you liked men?" 

He thought for a moment. "When did you get here?" 

Arthur faltered. "You can't be serious."

Charles chuckled awkwardly and looked way, a blush darkening his cheeks. "Yeah. Why do you think I blurted out 'You a queer?' as soon as I saw you?" 

"Oh my god," Arthur ran his hand through his hair, genuinely stunned. "Can't believe I turned you gay." 

Charles barked out a laugh and grabbed at Arthur's exposed thighs. "It's these little shorts!" 

"Hey, hey," Arthur giggled, trying to turn away from his tickling. "Ain't that short." 


	5. Chapter 5

After John got done with school on Friday, Arthur saw them off for their trip. He listened attentively to everything John had to say about the fish population in the lake to try and hide how excited he was for them to leave. His time in Bushkill had proven considerably more enjoyable than he had thought it would, but he was still used to a certain amount of freedom that he hadn't been afforded here. That morning he casually told Charles that they were leaving in the hopes that he would invite Arthur to his house for the first time. He hadn't been there since the bonfire despite dropping several hints about it, and he wanted a better look around now that they were...whatever they were. He wanted to see baby pictures and the way Charles kept his shower and, although having sex in the woods was fun, he wanted to fall asleep next to him.   
Arthur shook his head at that thought, pushing around the pan of stir fry he was making. Maybe Javier was right - maybe he _had_ gotten soft. But he thought if Javier could see Charles, they'd understand why Arthur was so soft for him.

" _Cause everything is new, and everything is you,_ " he sang loudly into the head of the spatula, _Lay All Your Love On Me_ blaring on Charles' boom box behind him. He'd forgotten it when he left that afternoon, and with the house to himself, Arthur wasn't overly eager to return it. He had on his comfy clothes - boxer briefs and his favorite shirt. It was enormous black tee for some cemetery that read ' _Do you know what you want on your tombstone?_ ' on the back. It had several large holes in it, but it was the softest thing he owned.   
He was so engrossed in his performance that he didn't even notice Charles had come in until he did a little spin and found him standing in the doorway with a huge smile on his face.   
"Jesus, fuck!" he yelled, dropping his spatula. "What the hell Charles? You ever hear of knockin'?" 

"I _did_ knock," he insisted, walking up to Arthur. "Several times. Then I heard _my_ boom box."

"So you're just here to confiscate my tunes?"

"Yup," Charles took Arthur by the waist and pushed him up against the counter. 

"Well your precious boom box is right there," Arthur nodded towards it but Charles had his face bent down into Arthur's neck. 

"Mm, is it?" 

"Yeah," he whispered as Charles pushed one hand up under his shirt and the other down the back of his underwear to grab his ass. 

"You just shower?" 

Arthur nodded, leaning his head back to give Charles full access to his neck and shivering at the feeling of his stubble. "Why?"

Without warning, Charles grabbed Arthur's hips again and roughly turned him to face the counter. Before he could resist, Charles was pressed up against his back, erection hard against his ass and lips at his ear. "Cause I wanna fuck you."   
Arthur felt himself blush even as he grinded back against him. It was strange for him to feel bashful about sex. He was overly used to being desired to that point that it barely excited him on its own. But the way he felt about Charles, how _badly_ Arthur always wanted him, was almost embarrassing in its vulnerability. He was desperate for him in a way that felt brand new. Arthur wanted to feel filled by Charles, to be consumed by him. 

"Is that what you want?" Arthur nodded eagerly, turning his head so they could kiss. Charles pushed a hand back up his shirt and pinched his nipple. "Tell me you want that." 

"I want it," he said quickly. "Please, I want it." 

"Tell me what you want," his fingers dipped down the back of Arthur's underwear but didn't go any further. With anyone else, he would've rolled his eyes. He would've waited, stubborn and silent, until they just got on with it. 

"I want you to fuck me. _Please_ Charles, please."   
Very suddenly, Charles' warm pressure against him was gone. It was freezing in his absence. Before he could so much as speak, he felt Charles yank his underwear down to his ankles. He looked over his shoulder to see him kneeling, watched as he pressed his face against his ass cheek.   
" _Ow!"_ he tried to pull away from where Charles had bit him but he was being held firmly in place. 

"Sorry."

"Don't sound - !" Arthur tried to say, but lost all his words when Charles knocked his legs farther apart so he could lick him, tongue wide and flat against the sensitive skin of his asshole. 

Arthur had always found being someone's first homosexual experience very tedious. It was clunky and awkward and usually shrouded in a heavy coat of shame. This had not been his experience with Charles, who was pushing Arthur's thigh up against the counter so he could spread him wider still. Arthur dropped onto his forearms and began stroking himself, but bit down against the moan building in his chest. He knew Charles liked most to hear him - to make his voice shake and coax out high-pitched whines. But after years of fake groans of pleasure, he liked the feeling of getting to the point that he physically couldn’t keep silent.  
  
“Awfully quiet up there,” he murmured and Arthur could feel his hot exhale. “You wanna do something else?”

”No, no,” he said quickly. “Don’t stop.”

He felt more than he heard him laugh and then his mouth was on him again. Charles used his knuckle to gently rub against his taint and Arthur accidentally kneed the cabinet.   
“Ow, fuck.”

”You okay?” Charles’ touch fell away in what he thought was concern until he heard a tube opening. He looked down to see him squeezing lube out onto his fingers. 

Arthur scoffed. “Did you have that your _pocket?”_

Charles smiled coyly. “Maybe.”

"Must’ve been real confident you could just walk in here and I’d bend over for you,” he mumbled sarcastically. 

“Well didn’t you?” Arthur’s snippy reply got caught off by Charles sliding two greased fingers into him. Arthur pressed his mouth closed but the groan was still loud in his throat. “Yes baby, so good. Take it so good.”   
He stopped trying to respond as Charles slowly fingered him. As new as he was to touching another man, he was confidant and eager with his tongue and fingers. It took him a moment, but when he curled his fingers, only slightly just like Arthur had taught him, Charles found his prostate and rubbed small, gentle circles on it. Arthur slammed a fist against the countertop and a long and shaky breath rattled out of his throat. He bucked his hips helplessly, painfully erect against the cabinet. Charles laughed, low and hungry.

It had been weeks since he was properly fucked and Charles was really taking his time. He used more lube than he probably needed to and gently scissored his fingers inside him. When he slowed, Arthur rolled back against them eagerly.   
“Go ahead,” he whispered. “Show me how you like it.”

”I’d like it best if you’d hurry up and fuck me.”

“You sure you’re ready?” he asked genuinely. His face softened by concern for just a moment and Arthur had to look away, pressing his head back against his forearms. Sometimes it was hard when Charles looked at him like that - soft and full of adoration. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he tried to go back to teasing. “Pretty sure I can handle you." 

"Oh?" Arthur shuddered as he slowly removed his fingers. He peaked over his shoulder again to see him stroking lube onto his dick. He very nearly had to close his eyes because it felt so humiliating to want someone so desperately.

"Yeah." 

Charles didn't respond except to leave him for a moment to wash his hands. Arthur stayed put, one hand splayed against the cool surface of the counter and one stroking himself. When he returned, Charles just stood there for a second looking at him. Arthur stopped touching himself, growing uncharacteristically self-conscious under his gaze.  
“Somethin’ wrong?”

”No, no,” he cooed, pulling his ass cheek to the side to get a better look at him, a gesture that felt obscene even to Arthur. “You just look so pretty like this.” 

“Oh, shut - !” his complaint got cut off by Charles spanking him once, so hard his words melted into a whimper. 

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. Charles lined up his dick with Arthur's hole, just barely touching him, but didn’t move further. “You’re being so good for me, Arthur. So good when you want to be fucked.”

He looked to Arthur for permission, eyes dark under his lashes. He nodded and Charles slid into him slowly. Arthur focused on his breathing as he got adjusted to his girth, forehead pressed down into his arms. When he finally felt him bottom out, Charles leaned down over his back and brushed his hair back away from his face. He kissed Arthur's back until he turned his head to the side to look at him. 

"Good?"

Arthur could only nod and Charles leaned back up off of him. He thrusted gently at first, running his hand over Arthur’s back in a soothing kind of motion. It was so intimate, to be comforted even as Charles was grunting with the movement of his hips. He could see he wanted to go faster, but he was trying to ease him into it. It was too much - too gentle, too attentive.   
“Ain’t gonna break me,” he snapped without really meaning to. Why did Charles have to do that? Why did he have care so openly? 

“Oh, sorry,” he stopped completely. He was slightly out of breath and clearly frazzled, but maintained a teasing tone even as his hips stuttered. “How do you like to be fucked?” 

Instead of responding, Arthur tried pushing back against him, but Charles grabbed his ass and held him still.   
“How do you like to be fucked?” he asked again, leaning down to put his lips to his ear. It was silly all things considered, but Arthur felt himself blush. 

“Harder.”

Without straightening up, Charles began thrusting forcefully into him. Arthur tried to turn his head to hide his face, but Charles took his chin and made him stay where he could see him. Arthur held his breath even as he reached down to touch himself. 

“You like it?”

“Yes, yes,” he whispered. Charles took the chance to slip his fingers into his mouth. Arthur finally moaned, deep and muffled around his hand, tongue wet on his knuckles. Charles hips bucked out of rhythm, a groan in Arthur’s ear. 

“Keep telling me,” he demanded, as if Arthur had any other option. He was past being able to keep quiet. Every time Charles bottomed out, he made a needy, high pitched noise. His eyes unfocused a little as Charles fucked him boneless, his fingers pushing a little farther down Arthur’s throat. He was delirious with how full he felt in that moment; no piece of him didn’t wholly belong to Charles. Arthur came loudly, chanting Charles’ name over and over like a prayer he was eager to answer.  
”Yes, yes, so good, doing so good,” Charles said in a shaking voice. After, he took his fingers back and grabbed Arthur’s hips to raise the angle just a little. “Can I, ah, can I finish in you?” 

“Please,” he begged weakly, mind beautifully blank and without inhibition for a moment. “Please.”

He did then, groans low and desperate and holding Arthur’s hips just high enough that his feet weren’t touching the ground. His mouth ran off without him, and Arthur only caught about half the words.   
“So good baby, ah, oh my god Arthur, so beautiful, so beautiful.” 

He let himself relish in the adoration of the moment, of the warmth and devotion of the release. Believed that for that a moment, Charles really did think those things about him. 

  
After, they laid in Arthur’s bed with the window open, smoking a joint. Charles was on his back and Arthur was tucked in under his arm, head rested on his chest. He could just barely hear the steady _thur-ump, thur-ump_ of his heart over the call of the cicadas outside. If he closed his eyes he could almost make out the river crashing down into itself, over and over. He felt high and dreamy and content. Charles was running his hand over Arthur’s back absentmindedly.  
“When do they get back?” Charles asked, passing the joint to Arthur.

“Sunday night I think.”

”Mm.”

”Why?”

He could feel a Charles shrug. “Thought maybe we could hang out until then. If you’re not busy.”

Arthur smiled freely where he knew Charles couldn’t see. “Sure. Don’t find myself busy too often up here.”

”What about your truck?”

”Yeah, yeah. I’m workin’ on it. Got it started the other day.” 

“How long till you finish it you think?”

There was a second, more important question in there. Arthur side stepped carefully around it.   
“I don’t rightly know. I’m a little in over my head, to be honest.”

”Do you have to be done by a certain time?”

”Sorta. Not really.”

”No job in Pittsburgh waiting for you?” he paused. “No person?”

”Uh, I mean sorta.” Charles was quiet, waiting for more. “Suppose you’re wantin’ to know about that stuff, huh?”

”Yeah, I am.”

”Is huntin’ and leatherwork what you do mostly?” he deflected. 

“Mostly, yeah. Some contracting and lawn work when people need it.”

”What about your dad? What’s he do?”

”He passed away a few years ago.” 

“Mm. So it’s just you in that house?”

”Yeah.”

The image made Arthur a little sad - Charles, alone all the time, no one to keep him company or hold him.   
“What happened to him?”

He was quiet for a long moment. “He drank a lot after my mom died. Got liver disease.” 

He peaked up at Charles from where his head was laid on his chest. He had a stony, unreadable expression on his face that was foreign to Arthur. “I'm sorry.” 

“Thank you.”

”My daddy liked to drink too.”

”Not anymore?”

”Oh, he been gone for a while. My mom got sick when I was little and he died in jail.”

”How old were you?” 

”When he died?" Charles nodded. "Shit. Thirteen I think.”

”Damn.” Arthur shifted around under the discomfort of Charles knowing that about him. 

“How old were you when yours went?”

”Ten for my mom. Nineteen for my dad.”

“Mm.”

”So that’s when you went to live with your uncle? Hosea?”

”Nah. He ain’t really my uncle.”

”Oh,” Charles paused. “How’d you and John end up with him then?”

”I was already with them a year or so when John came ‘round.”

”So he isn’t your brother?”

”He is,” Arthur said defensively. “It’s different comin’ from CYS. You hold onto who you can. John’s my brother much as anyone else is brothers.” 

“Alright,” he said, then after a moment, “I’m sorry.”

” ‘s fine.”

“So,” he asked slowly, moving his hand up into Arthur’s hair. “What did you _do_ in Pittsburgh?” 

He was trying to move onto a lighter subject. It was an honest but futile effort. Arthur felt there were no light parts of his life outside of Bushkill. He sat up on his forearms to look at Charles in the face. He was so god damn _beautiful._ His brown eyes had grown a little puffy and red from the weed and he’d tied his hair back up away from his face. His cheekbones, his only sharp feature, made him look almost sculpted. His skin was flawless from years of regimented sunscreen and coconut oil. Arthur leaned in towards him, reaching out a finger to brush across his full lips.  
”Been tryin’ to draw these for days,” he admitted quietly. “Guess a pencil just can’t do it justice.

”You’re avoiding my question,” Charles observed, but he pressed Arthur’s fingers to his mouth and kissed them. 

“I ain’t,” Arthur lied, lifting his leg over Charles to straddle him. “Just wantin’ a little demonstration so I can draw better. Maybe see your mouth wrapped around my - !”

Charles shoved him off his lap, cutting him off, but he was smiling.   
“You’re filthy, has anyone ever told you?”

”Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

* * *

They woke up in the morning slow and sweet and warm. Or Charles did. He covered Arthur’s back and neck in little kisses, trying to wake him up. Arthur was dimly aware of it, but much more interested in staying asleep. They had all day to be together. He could sleep for,   
“Five more minutes,” he begged, turning towards the wall away from Charles. 

“You’ve been saying that for half an hour.”

”Huh-uh, I ain’t.” 

“Mhm,” he insisted, and spooned himself around Arthur’s body. 

“Huh-uh.”

Charles chuckled, warm breath against Arthur’s neck. His hand slid from his hip and began gently stroking Arthur over his underwear.   
“That ain’t fair,” he complained weakly. 

“Want me to stop?”

Instead of answering, Arthur leaned his head back and took a fistful of Charles’ hair. He rocked him ass back against him until they were both taking sharp, shallow little breaths. By the time they got to the coffee Charles had brewed, it was cold. 

" _Charles,"_ he begged, hours later. He was hot and desperate, his breaths heavy and labored. Charles bent over, bare back glistening with sweat. "You finish yet?"

"It would go a lot faster if you'd _help_ _me_ ," he said pointedly, glancing back over his shoulder at Arthur. 

They'd been wading through the river for close to an hour. Charles had tried to explain to him several times how to catch crayfish, but he always lifted the rock too fast and startled it. The one time he didn't, he excitedly snatched it up only to get pinched and drop it. Charles had said he wasn't grabbing it right. Arthur had said there were easier ways to eat crustacean.   
"I ain't no good at it!"

"You'd be fine if you'd be a little more patient." 

Arthur huffed, his hands on his hips. He would never admit it, but Charles made it look like an art. When he found a good rock he stood by it, motionless, until the water settled. Then he would lift the rock carefully and reach down so slowly the water barely made note of his hand, and the little bastard was in the bucket before it knew what happened. "Here, come," he commanded after he lifted an especially large rock.  
"Slowly," he added, glaring toward Arthur's big, clunky steps. Arthur rolled his eyes but obeyed. Two huge crayfish sat at their feet. "Reach in _slowly_ and don't grab it until I say so." 

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay, now." 

The muck their movements kicked up obscured the creatures until they pulled them out - both perfectly held behind the pinchers.   
"There ya go!" Charles exclaimed happily, grabbing the bucket to toss them into. 

Arthur smiled gleefully, looking the crayfish in the face before he threw it in. "Ha! Take that, creepy little bastard." 

"I think that's plenty, we can head back." 

"Thank god," Arthur exhaled. 

"It'll be worth it come dinner, I promise." 

"Better be." 

They came up out of the woods together, shirts over their shoulders, to see three cars in the driveway.   
"Shit," Arthur cursed, slipping his shirt on and jogging to the house. He'd completely forgotten he was meant to be watching the shop. "Sorry y'all," he said as soon as he came in the door, hurrying behind the counter. He didn't recognize two of them; older, cranky men complaining about the wait. Though the third wasn't facing him, he instantly recognized the stringy blond hair and chew bottle. Micah waited until the other men left before turning to Arthur. 

"Hey there, friend." 

"What do you want?"

"Oh, not much," he pretended to muse, wondering up to the counter. "Some worms, maybe a new lure. A reason I shouldn't kill you for nearly strangling my little brother." 

This close, Arthur could smell his sour body odor mixed with the nauseating open bottle of used chew. Arthur rolled his eyes.   
"Should've figured he was your brother. Bein' a stupid bigot must run in the family."

"Listen here you fucking faggot - !" Arthur reached across the counter and grabbed the front of Micah's shirt so aggressively he dropped his bottle, spilling it onto the floor. He dragged his torso partway over the glass so he could talk into his face. 

"Now Micah," he said evenly, "that's the second time you called me that. The third time'll be the last." 

"You threatenin' me?" 

"No, no," he said, gently shaking Micah. "I'm tellin' you." 

His eyes were slightly wide under Arthur's hateful gaze. He raised his hands in surrender like he had at the bonfire, chuckling nervously. Arthur let go of him and he slid back across the counter and nearly fell. Charles walked in as he was steadying himself. He looked to Micah to the spilled chew to Arthur, brow furrowed.   
"Hey," he said slowly. "Everything alright?"

"Sure is," Arthur smiled, not looking away from Micah. "Right Micah?"

He glared between the two of them like he was weighing his options. Eventually, he stepped into the pile of chew and smeared it under his boot.  
"Sure is," he turned, tracking it across the floor. "It's so _nice_ that you boys are getting close. I'll leave you to it."

Finally, he left and go into his truck. Arthur sighed and held his breath as he cleaned up the mess of chew.   
"What was that about?" 

"Apparently his little brother was that kid at the park I told you about." 

"Oh. Cleet."

"Mhm."

"They're all rotten, the whole family," Charles set the bucket down to help Arthur, but he waved him off. 

"You go ahead, I'll be in."

When Charles was gone, Arthur looked out through the window and watched until Micah finally pulled out. 

* * *

They were having a late lunch the next day when John and Hosea came home. He felt a lurch of panic to hide Charles; he hadn't asked Hosea's permission to have him over. The fear that he'd be angry was new and unfounded. At some point, without his knowledge, he'd grown attached to his place here. He was afraid to lose it. 

"Hello boys," Hosea said as he came in, completely unfazed by Charles' presence. Arthur let go of the breath he'd been holding. "Have a good weekend together?"

"We really did," Charles said before Arthur could try to lie about how long he'd been there. John burst in the door after him, still wearing his reflective safety vest. 

"Is Charles - ?" he caught sight of him at the table, "Charles is here!"   
He launched himself into the chair next to him, almost completely ignoring Arthur. "You should have seen me! I started a fire _myself!_ Just like you taught me!" 

Charles gave him an exaggerated look of awe. "Wow! That's amazing!" 

He nodded vigorously before he finally seemed to notice they were in the middle of sharing a meal.   
"Why are you here? You only do the shed on weekdays." 

Hosea came over to take the last seat next to Arthur. He sighed gratefully, leaning back against the chair and stretching his arm across his chest. 

"I was spending time with your brother."

"Oh." John's eyes shot briefly over to Arthur, a mischievous grin on his face. "Cause you're his boyfriend?"

"John - !" Arthur tried to interrupt. 

"Yeah," Charles answered simply, and reached out to put his hand over Arthur's on the table, "cause I'm his boyfriend."  
Arthur looked at him with wide eyes and felt his face grow red. Charles merely smiled and shrugged.   
"If that's alright with you, that is," he turned back to John. 

Thrilled at the drop of power afforded to him, John tapped his chin thoughtfully.   
"I guess it's alright," he decided, clearly thrilled. He turned to Arthur, "You're a _liar_."

"Shove off, John." 

"What do you mean?" Charles asked. 

"I asked Artie before and he said no."

Charles put his hand over his heart, feigning offense. Arthur wondered if he was imagining the ounce of real hurt he saw there.   
"You said that?"

Arthur shrugged sharply, looking at down at his plate.  
"Ain't like we talked about it."

"Oh. Well is that alright with you?"

Arthur was overly aware of how red his face was and the way Hosea was silently watching him, a sly smirk on his face.   
"Sure," he said after a long moment. Charles squeezed his hand.

John sat back in his chair, a smug look on his face.   
"Lenny is gonna be _so_ jealous."

* * *

On the morning of the 4th of July, Arthur made Charles go with him to the mechanic in town. He was waiting for him at the end of the driveway when his truck pulled up. Arthur jumped into the passenger seat and leaned over to give him a kiss.   
"Hey."

"Hey. Did you make a list?"

" _Yes,"_ Arthur sighed, pulling out a slip of paper. "Ain't gonna need it though." 

"Wanna bet?" Charles held out his hand for the list. Arthur paused. 

"Bet what?"

"Hmm," he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as they drove into town. "If I win, I get to take you hunting before you leave." 

Arthur sighed and looked out the window. He had spent a lot of time ignoring that oncoming reality. "Before I leave?"

"Mhm." Arthur didn't look up and Charles reached over and put his hand over his. "What if _you_ win?"

"Then you come down and visit me in the city sometime." 

"Deal," Charles squeezed his hand. 

The mechanic wasn't in yet when they arrived, despite his sign saying he'd been open for half an hour. Arthur stood outside the door with his hands on his hips. Charles was leaning against his truck, eyes closed against the sun. His hair was so dark that it almost blended in with the hood it was draped over.   
"Let me see the list real quick," he demanded, walking back to the car. 

"You said you didn't need it."

"Just wanna look at it one more time." 

"No." 

Arthur made to reach into Charles' pocket but got his hand swatted away.   
"C'mon Charles." 

"I have a lot riding on this." 

"What's so bad about comin' to the city?"

"What's so bad about hunting?"

"It's _boring._ Lemme see it." 

"No." 

Arthur got swatted away a few more times before someone finally came and unlocked the door.   
"Bout damn time," he bristled, following the man inside. He didn't respond, just walked back behind the counter. Charles followed in after them. 

"Hi Charles," he said, ignoring Arthur. "How you been?"

"Doing well, Hamish. How about you?"

"Better now that you fixed up my leg." 

"Good, glad to hear it."

"Fixed his leg?" Arthur interjected. 

"Hamish has a prosthetic leg."

"Oh."

"Yeah, makes it so I run a little behind," he said pointedly. Arthur knew it was a line, but he ducked his head a little anyway. 

"Sorry."

"Mm. What do you need?"

He rattled off the items quickly. Charles had the list out, checking his work.   
"And, uh, a new battery."

"Forgetting something," he chided. 

Arthur huffed. "What? Steering wheel cover?"

"Nope."

"Motor oil?"

"You already said that."

"What is it?"

"Are you admitting defeat?"

"No," he said quickly, but after another minute of Hamish watching him impatiently, he sighed. "What is it?"

"An oil filter."

"Jesus fuck. Dammit! I didn't say that?"

"No," Hamish answered, and went towards the back room. "I'll get your stuff." 

Arthur turned away from Charles and looked out the door.   
"Hope you like turkey." 

"Hmph," he grunted, not turning to him. 

"You're such a sore loser," Charles teased, walking closer to him. He looked back over his shoulder before he put a hand on Arthur's hip. "Don't pout. It'll be fun." 

"Will you still visit me sometime?" he asked, finally looking up into Charles' eyes. His expression softened. 

"Of course."

He nodded and Charles let his hand fall away. "Arthur - ?"

"Alright," Hamish grunted, wheeling out a dolly with all his stuff, "here. What are you doing, building it from scratch?"

"Sort of," Arthur gave him a wad of bills. "My uncle has this truck that's been sittin' for a long time." 

"Oh, you're Hosea's nephew?"

"How'd you know?"

"I'm out there for bait all the time. Been telling him he needed to do something with that old piece of shit. Here, wait." He grabbed a few other things and laid them out on the dolly. "Those are free." 

"Oh, you ain't gotta - !" 

"No, no. Go ahead. Hosea is a friend of mine and you have your work cut out for you."

"Well," Arthur shifted uncomfortably at the kindness, "thank you." 

"Don't mention it. Hey," he called just as they were leaving, "come see me if you get that thing going. Might have a job for you." 

"Oh I ain't gonna be here much longer." 

"Hmph. Well, good luck then. Tell your uncle he owes me a new lure."

That evening , the four of them were getting ready to drive to Sharpsburg for fireworks. They were taking Charles' truck so they could sit in the bed and watch, but that meant Arthur and John had to ride in the back. He'd laid out a blanket to give them some semblance of comfort.   
"I'll take the back road," Charles decided. "It won't take that much longer."

Arthur grunted noncommittally. He was annoyed at having been demoted so Hosea could sit in the front.   
"I'm an old man, Arthur," Hosea reminded him as he got into the passenger side.

"You're forty."

"Like I said."

"Help me up, Artie," John demanded, standing in front of him with his arms in the air. 

"I seen you get into this truck just fine on your own." 

"No, I need help," he grabbed onto the front of Arthur's stripped button down. He smacked John's hands. 

"Stop fuckin' around and get in yourself." 

" _Charles!"_ he whined, as he had taken to doing every time Arthur told him no, "make him."

"Here, let me help you - ?"

"No! I want Arthur to help me!" Where Charles couldn't see, John smiled up at him vindictively. Charles looked at him and smiled, tilting his head to the side in a silent request. 

Arthur sighed and grabbed John around the waist before he bodily flung him into the bed of the truck. There was a short scream before he landed with a heavy _thump._  
" _Ow!"_ John complained. "I landed on my arm!"

"Get in yourself next time then."

Charles gave him a pointed look before going to the driver's side. Arthur climbed in behind John and shoved him off the blanket. 

They arrived just in time. Hosea put on a _Billy Joel_ tape and cracked the window that separated the bed from the cab so they could listen to it from the back. There were a bunch of other cars in the field, families all hunkered down for the show. Someone had brought an entire grill and most of the adults were drinking. A group of children were chasing each other with sprinklers, wielding them like swords. John sat in Hosea's lap, pointing out ever shape that burst in the sky. The air smelled like sweat and beer and sulfur and gunpowder, the call of the cicadas screaming through the noise every time a firework fizzled out. Arthur's favorite part was the faint crackling as the lights rained down, disappearing into smoke. In the privacy of the evening, everyone's eyes thrown up to the sky, Charles reached over to hold Arthur's hand. Charles smiled at him, and it caught Arthur a little off guard.  
The colors exploded above them and ignited him in it's leftover hue. Each made him look more beautiful than the last, reflecting in his eyes and against his hair as if they all wanted to be a part of him, just for a second. He lost his breath a little bit, looking at Charles right then. During the finale when he was sure no one was watching, Arthur leaned in to kiss him. His lips tasted like the candy they'd been sharing and it made Arthur felt full. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me googling "parts of cars" to try and come up with a list of things you might buy from a mechanic.


	6. Chapter 6

"I want him in bed by nine," Hosea warned as he walked towards the front door. 

"Sure," Arthur said absentmindedly, flipping through the phone book. "Y'all gotta go to Sharpsburg for tacos?" 

"Charles," he redirected. "Nine. Okay?"

"Why can't I stay up with them?" John whined. He was seated next to Arthur, trying to get a look at the page of the phone book he was on. "Don't got school tomorrow." 

"Nine," Charles nodded. John huffed. 

Only then did Hosea finally leave, with a small wave and the command, "Be safe." 

Charles and Arthur were going on a camping trip the next morning. There was supposed to be a meteor shower and Charles had a whole plan surrounding it. Arthur had tried to be gruff and impassive about it but he was excited. Charles was a planner - something he was not at all used to. In his life, circumstances were rarely so consistent that he could indulge in that kind of attention to detail. If he was being honest, it made him giddy to know that Charles had spent his own, free time away from Arthur planning something for them to enjoy together.  
They were missing a day of work to go, so Charles had offered to babysit John and give Hosea the night off in exchange. When Arthur tried to say that _he_ hadn't volunteered for shit, he was ignored. 

"What're tacos?" John asked, squinting down at the page Arthur was considering. 

"It's like crunchy and there's meat and cheese and stuff inside." 

"I want spaghetti."

"I did not ask you what you wanted." 

" _Charles!"_

"We ain't eatin' spaghetti, don't care who you yell for." 

“What about Chinese?” Charles tried to compromise. He came to stand behind Arthur and absentmindedly gathered his hair back away from his face. Arthur felt his ears grow warm at the casual intimacy of it. 

“I like egg rolls.” John confirmed.

  
Charles sent Arthur and John in his car to pick up the food. It was the first time Arthur had ever driven his truck, and he was a little envious of how nice he kept it. It drove smooth and easy and there were no stains on the upholstery. He wondered if his truck was ever going to look or act this nice, and had the sharp reminder that by the time he was driving it he wouldn't be on these roads anymore.  
They were getting out in front of the restaurant in Sharpsburg when he heard John gasp. He spun around to look for him and huffed when he saw he was fine, just pointing silently across the street at the _Blockbuster._  
“ _Please_ Arthur?”

Arthur held John’s hand as they jaywalked.Inside the _Blockbuster_ was just about the ugliest carpet Arthur had ever seen and rows and rows of VHSs. It smelled a little stale but the prospect of having so many movies at their fingertips was always a little exciting. John wasted no time looking other than the couple of minutes it took him to decipher the genre labels, marching right back to the sci-fi section. Arthur followed dutifully.   
“I wanna watch _Return of the Jedi.”_

“It’s long,” Arthur mused, turning the case over in his hands. “It’ll keep ya up past your bedtime.”

”Come _on,_ Hosea won’t even know.”

”Charles ain’t gonna be happy.”

John rolled his eyes in such a way that Arthur felt like he was looking in a mirror. “Charles likes _Star Wars_ too.”

”Well you’re gonna have to be the one to convince him.”

Arthur handed the VHS to John and looked up to see a familiar pair of green eyes watching him from a couple rows ahead of them. His salt and pepper hair wasn’t hidden by a cowboy hat right then. He gave Arthur a small smile and a subtle nod. There was a woman standing right next to him, his hand rested on her lower back. Arthur could just see two small blond children around him. He immediately ducked his head and grabbed John’s shoulder, steering him to the front of the store.

”So we can get it?”

”Sure, whatever,” he mumbled, sure not to look at the man as they passed him and his family. 

They hurried back out into the hot summer night. John was saying something about a director's cut but he wasn't listening, silently praying that the man would just let it go. They were waiting for the light to change when Arthur heard the door bell chime as someone joined them outside.

”Hey there,” the man from the market called out. He stopped a few feet shy of them, having left his family inside.

”Hi?” John said. The man didn’t look at him.

”Thought I wasn’t gonna see you again.”

”You ain’t,” Arthur dismissed. The traffic was coming too quickly for them to cross. He willed the light to change.

”Oh, come on,” he purred, taking a step towards and reaching out to touch him. 

Arthur slapped his hand away. “Cut it out. I’m not workin’.”

”I’ll pay you double.”

”Fuck off.”

”Just a quick blow - ?”

Arthur turned and pushed against his chest hard enough that he tumbled backwards onto his ass.   
“I said fuck off.”

The man looked up at him from the gravel, aghast. Finally, the light changed. More gruffly than he meant to, Arthur grabbed John’s arm and all but dragged him across the street.

“Ow, Artie - !”

”You dumb whore!” the man yelled out at him. Arthur cringed but didn’t slow. In under a minute, they flew into the restaurant, grabbed the food, and were back on the road. John waited until they’d been driving for a minute before speaking.

”Hurt my arm.” Arthur glanced over at him. He was wearing an exaggerated pout and holding where Arthur had grabbed him.

”Sorry.”

”Who was that?”

“Oh, some jagoff. Just forget about it.”

John had the _Blockbuster_ bag clamped tightly in his lap. “Well what’s a whore?”

”Just a mean word.”

”Please say a lot of mean stuff to you.”

Arthur glanced over to see John looking up at him, something like concern in his big eyes. It was sweet, but John was too young to worry about that kind of thing.   
“So Luke is Darth Vader’s cousin?”

”His _cousin?”  
_

Arthur thought, like making light of a curse word so a child won’t repeat it, saying nothing was the way to get John not to say anything. He was wrong. As soon as they walked in the door, Arthur’s hands full of Chinese takeout and John brandishing his VHS, he stalked up to Charles, who was glancing over something at the table. He snapped it shut at their entrance.  
”We got a movie and an old man called Arthur a whore.”

Charles filtered through a couple expressions before he landed on surprise. “What?”

”John go wash up,” Arthur commanded, putting the food down on the table. He noticed immediately that the book under Charles’ hand was his journal. He must’ve left it out earlier. “You readin’ my journal?”

”Did someone call you a whore?” 

“Asked you first.” 

“Arthur.”

”John, _go wash up_ ,” he commanded. John hadn’t moved, but slunk back towards the bathroom at the second command. When the door shut behind him, Charles looked back to Arthur.

”What happened?” 

“How much you read?”

Charles sighed pointedly, holding the journal back out to Arthur. “None. I was just looking at your drawings.”

”Didn’t ask me.”

”You’re right, I’m sorry. What happened?”

Arthur shifted his weight from foot to foot. ”Wasn’t nothin’.”

”Sounds like something.”

He shrugged sharply. "Don’t want to talk about it.”

Charles was quiet for a second, looking at him. Arthur fidgeted with the takeout, putting Charles’ chicken and broccoli in front of him without a word.  
”I’d like it if you told me,” he said plainly. 

“Told ya it wasn’t nothin’.” 

“Arthur - ?”

”Ain’t none of your business anyway,” he snapped without really meaning to. Charles fell silent. 

For the first time, Arthur was thankful to hear John slam a door open. With a clean face and hands, he slid into the chair next to Arthur and grabbed a box of fried rice. Charles didn’t bring it up again.  
  


John shifting around under his arm woke Arthur from the sleep he’d drifted off into at some point. The end credits were rolling and John was stretching from the spot he’d taken squished between him and Charles. It was nearly eleven.  
”Mmph,” John grunted, voice heavy with exhaustion. “That’s my favorite movie.”

”Time for bed,” Charles chided, patting John’s arm gently. Instead of standing up, John curled back down into a ball on Arthur’s leg. He looked happy. 

“Since you guys are boyfriends that means Arthur’s gonna stay, right?” John asked, staring up at them.

Charles eyes flickered up to Arthur’s, nearly as blatant a question as John’s. They hadn’t talked about it. They hadn’t talked at all since Arthur snapped at him at dinner, actually. 

"Uh..." he started lamely, but then Hosea‘s headlights were shining through the front windows. John’s eyebrows shot up, frozen in shock.   
“ _Go!”_ Arthur hissed, shoving him up. John obeyed, sprinting back towards his room. In the darkness, Arthur smacked his knee off the coffee table in his scramble to turn the TV off. “ _Fuck_!”

“Hello?” Hosea called out, and the lights all flickered on at once. Arthur hadn’t made it to the TV in time, the end credits still rolling. He threw himself back onto the couch against Charles.

”Hey!” he called over his shoulder. “How was your night off?”

”Good, good,” he mumbled, looking around suspiciously. He glanced down the hall to see John’s door closed. “He asleep?”

”Uh, yup. Been asleep,” Arthur answered. Charles was silent, watching the credits roll. 

Hosea wondered over to them, squinting at the television.  
“You watched - ?”

”Where’d you end up goin’?” Arthur interrupted. 

“Hustled some locals out of their poker allowance. You watched _Star Wars_ without John?” 

“Charles likes it.”

”Charles?”

He looked up at Arthur and then at Hosea. “I do like _Star Wars.”_

“Hm. Alright.” 

Charles stood from the couch and walked towards the door without so much as looking at Arthur.   
“Glad you had a good evening,” he directed towards Hosea. He nodded at Arthur too, but said nothing else before leaving. When the screen door snapped shut, Hosea turned to him. 

“What’d you do?” 

”Nothin’,” he said gruffly, pulling himself over the back of the couch and following Charles. He was already pulling out but stopped when Arthur waved him down. He yanked himself up against the driver’s side door, resting his forearms on the open window.   
“Hey.”

”Hey.”

”We still on for tomorrow?” he tried to ask playfully. There was a tinge of real worry in his voice he wished wasn’t so evident. Charles’ expression gave nothing away. 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright.” Arthur hung there for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He felt nauseatingly vulnerable when he asked, “You mad at me?”

“Can’t really be mad at you. You’re right, it’s none of my business if you don't want it to be.” 

“Wasn’t even nothin’ anyway.”

Charles' brow furrowed in a rare moment of annoyance. “Look, you don’t have to tell me but don’t lie to me.”  
Arthur’s mouth snapped shut. His voice was firm and serious and it twisted Arthur's gut like he was trying to ring it out. He didn’t know how to handle Charles' disappointment.   
“Okay?” he asked.

”Yeah,” he said weakly, and hopped back off the truck. Charles’ gaze lingered on him for a moment before looking back at his rear view mirror. 

“Later Arthur.”

"Be seein’ you.”

He watched Charles leave then sat on the porch steps for a few minutes. The night was cloudy and dark, like the summer was muffled in its tight fist. The porch light laid out all over him and when he looked down at his body it felt foreign in the green hue.

* * *

The next day, Arthur got into Charles’ car nervous and quiet. They were driving an hour further up the mountain and he had the few things he’d been asked to bring: a change of clothes, a water bottle, aluminum foil, Hosea's sleeping bag, and a disposable camera. Despite their last interaction, Charles seemed fine to carry on like nothing had happened. Arthur supposed there wasn’t anything more to be said - he’d turned Charles away when he asked to be let in. Arthur couldn’t expect him to just keep knocking.  
”You bring the camera?” 

“Yup,” he dug through his book bag until he found it and pulled it out. He clicked back the dial until it resisted and took a quick snap of Charles. He was wearing purple athletic shorts and a loose, black tank top. He had his hair braided back into a neat plait and he drove with one hand firmly holding the top of the steering wheel. His lips had curled into the smallest smile when Arthur pointed the camera at him even though the midday light was a bit harsh. 

“You put sunscreen on?”

The _yes_ was already on his lips when he remembered Charles' request the night before. “Nah, not yet.”

With his free hand, Charles reached back behind his seat and pulled out his own book bag, dropping it in Arthur’s lap. It was much heavier than his.   
“It’s in there.” He obeyed the unspoken command, putting it over his legs and arms and the back of his neck. “Face too.”

”Yeah, yeah, I’m gettin’ there.”

”You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” 

“Not particularly, why?”

Charles smiled to himself. “No reason.”

The hike was hot but not unbearable, the slowly waning sun against their backs only when the tree cover broke. Arthur had complained at first, but at some point began to enjoy the feeling of crisp, clean air in his lungs and the lack of human noise all around them. It helped that he got to walk behind Charles - got to admire the way the his legs carried him so gracefully, how the muscles of his back flexed. When he turned his head to talk to Arthur, the sweat on his face made him look beautiful and intense. Every once in a while, he would veer off the path to pluck some herb. He told Arthur about them in great detail, kneeling down next to it on the ground and pointing out which pieces could be used for what. Arthur was a little stunned - had never really considered that the weeds and vines he saw on the side of the road had any kind of specificity about them. When they came upon a mulberry tree, Charles' face lit up like it was a hundred dollar bill.   
"Oh, these are my favorite," he said softly. Arthur followed him off the trail towards it, over a huge, decaying log and around a patch of poison ivy. 

"What are they?"

"Mulberries."

"They any good?"

"Yeah, absolutely. We used to have a tree out in the yard and my mom would make pies from them all summer." Charles gathered the front of his tank top into a pouch and began picking them. Arthur went to grab one. "No, not that one. It's too pink still. The blacker the berry the sweeter the juice." 

"Ain't that the truth," Arthur winked at him over his shoulder. Charles rolled his eyes but smiled, a small blush darkening his face. Arthur plucked the biggest, darkest berry he could find and held it up to Charles' mouth. 

"No, you try it. I know what they taste like." 

"C'mon," Arthur insisted and Charles opened his mouth for him to put the berry on his tongue. Without breaking eye contact, he wiped the juice from his thumb across Charles' bottom lip, leaving a smudge of rouge. He heard the way Charles' breath hitched, just a little bit, as Arthur leaned in to kiss him. He licked his bottom lip first and then into his mouth when Charles opened up for him. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.  
"Mm, yeah. Real sweet." 

"Here," Charles said, taking another berry from what he'd already gathered and feeding it to him. They kissed again and again until both their mouths were dark pink and sticky, and Arthur knew for a fact that nothing would ever taste as sweet as Charles did. 

They had been hiking for close to two hours when the earth finally plateaued. Very suddenly, grass and dirt disappeared from under their feet and was replaced by sandstone. When Arthur looked up he was met not with more forest, but with a looming, solitary peak that seemed to levy a serious gaze directly at him. He stopped in his tracks immediately to look at it. He had seen much bigger mountains in his life, in magazines mostly, but this one was covered in trees instead of gray rock. Between their cliffside and it was a wide and deep valley, carved into by what he assumed was the Delaware River. The descent to it had to be thousands of feet of steep rock.   
"Wow," he breathed. Charles looked back at him and smiled, dropping his bag onto the rock. 

"Beautiful right?" 

"Sure is. You don't mean to sleep right here do you?" 

"I do," he said, kneeling down unpack far to close to the edge for Arthur comfort.

"What if I roll off?"

Charles looked up at him, amused. "Guess I'll have to hold you real tight. Go get some dry wood, yeah?"

Arthur obeyed, and in a half in hour they were all set up. The sun, heavy and wet as it seemed to be, was dripping lazily down behind the horizon. It threw thick oranges up against the mountain as they quietly chopped up potatoes and carrots.   
"What'd you call these?"

"Foil packs. You brought the foil didn't you?" 

"Mhm," he pulled out the roll he'd taken from Hosea and held it out to him. 

"Great, thank you." He stood from where he'd been chopping, wiping his hands on his shorts. "You finish that, I'm gonna go check the rabbit traps." 

"Rabbit traps?" 

"Mhm. Set them up while you were getting wood."

"What for?"

He turned his head to the side, a little confused. "Meat?" 

"Oh," Arthur looked back down at the carrots but heard that Charles did not walk away. 

"That alright?"

"You're gonna skin it?" 

"Unless you want hairy meat, yes." 

Arthur looked up at him quickly. "Can you do it in the woods?" 

"Don't tell me you're squeamish?"

Without his permission, Arthur was suddenly remembering. So many nameless bodies crumpled in pools of their own blood as he raced past them. Davey, sick and covered in sores, hands clutching his sheets as he took a final, shuddering breath. His almost rapist laying in the mud and the rain, unflinching as Arthur stabbed him far too many times.   
"Not exactly." 

He must have seen something in Arthur's face, because the easy smile he'd had fell away. "You okay?" 

"Yeah." 

Charles looked like he might say something else but then just nodded and walked into the woods. He came back with cleaned and dressed rabbit and they made foil packs together as they finally lost the last of the sunlight. 

Later, they were laying under the stars in the enormous shadow of the Appalachian mountain range. Arthur had always assumed that the forest, this real, deep, ancient type of forest, would be pitch black at night. He was wrong. The moon was nearly full and cast everything in a soft, pale hue. The meteor shower was light, only the occasional ball of celestial fire raging through the darkness. Each time Arthur would point it out to Charles, awestruck, but he stopped making wishes after the tenth. Even without them he would have been amazed by how wide and clear the the sky was. He never knew there was so many stars. Eventually the meteors slowed to a stop but they stayed up still, laying naked in the sleeping bag, curled into each other, mumbling under the crackling of the dying fire. 

“Do you know how old these mountains are?” Charles asked him. Arthur had his face pressed up against the side of his head, idly running his fingers through his hair.

“Nah.”

“They’re as old as bones.”

“Hmm? That a joke?”

“No, I’m serious.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They used to be as tall as the Rockys,” he said wistfully, staring up at the endless forest. “Now they’re falling back home into the earth. Animals evolved skeletons and these mountains came to be during the same period, the Ordovician period.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, trying to take in what Charles was explaining to him. “That’s...spooky.”

Charles laughed a little, low and warm. “It is. You should see them at the end of fall. There’s so much fog.”

Arthur could picture that - haunting the tops of the trees, ominous and unending. Unimaginably ancient.  
“How you know all that?”

“My mother’s people were the first to live here. She would tell me this story about a great turkey vulture who flew too low and carved the mountains into the earth with the tips of his wings,” he said. “I like to read about the area. Makes me feel closer to her.”

“What people is that?”

“Lenape.”

“Mm. Would that make the turkey vulture god?”

“No, not really. At least I don't think.”

“You a religious man?”

Charles shrugged against Arthur’s chest. “Maybe a little. It’s nice to think about, but I don’t know that I really believe it. This mountain might be the closest thing to god we’ll ever see with how old it is. Who’s to say the eternal push of evolution isn’t the wings of a giant turkey vulture?”

“Makes more sense than Christianity.”

Charles laughed again, turning his head so their noses touched. “You a good Christian boy?”

“Was baptized Catholic but I think I been inside a church maybe four times my whole life. Two of those times I was havin’ sex with a priest.”

“ _What?"_

“Mhm. Was nineteen.”

“How did that happen?”

Arthur thought of how he walked past the diocese to get to the bus stop for a while. One summer, a priest in maybe his late 30s took to sitting on a bench in the front garden. He watched Arthur come and go for a few weeks, exchanging long glances, before he subtly gestured for him to follow him inside. The priest paid to fuck him in the confessional box twice that summer before they moved houses again. Instead of saying that, Arthur shrugged.

“You said your mom’s people were the _first_ on these mountains?”

“Why do you avoid my questions like that?”

Arthur hesitated. “I don't do that.”

“You do. I get what happened last night wasn't my business, but - !"

“Ask me somethin’ different," he interrupted. He desperately wanted to please Charles, but he didn't know what kind of answers he was asking for. 

"What?"

"Ask me a different question." 

“Fine. Did you go to college?”

“Nah. Didn’t graduate high school.”

“Oh.” Arthur felt a little warmth in his cheeks. Of course tonight is when Charles would ask that, when he had talked so smart. “Why?”

“Pass.”

Charles huffed. “You don’t make it very easy to get to know you.”

Arthur wanted to say that was the idea, but instead he shrugged. "You know plenty."

"I don't," he said sharply. Arthur flinched minutely at the change in his tone and Charles softened his voice. "Do you think I'm going to judge your or something? I'm not."

"You say that now."

"And I mean it." 

“Ain’t fun stories Charles,” he said, looking back up towards the peaks that had at one point brushed against the horizon. “Not real excitin’ or interestin’ neither. Rather talk about somethin’ nice.”

“Well I’m not asking for a fun story, I’m asking because I want to know you. I want to understand you." Whatever Arthur had been going to say died in his throat. Charles’ casual tenderness often caught him off guard. He was quiet for a long moment, feeling like he was about to vomit. 

“Didn’t finish ‘cause I spent too much time get paid to fuck priests,” he said quickly, all in one breath. He didn’t look down from the mountain to see Charles’ reaction.

“Oh. Is that what last night was about?”

"Sorta." 

"Will you tell me more?"

He huffed out an angry breath, although he wasn't really angry at all. He felt trapped more than anything - like a cornered animal that had to choose between love and comfort. Charles was patient next to him, reaching up to run a soothing hand over his back.   
"You're okay," he murmured, and Arthur tried to believe him. 

"Ran into this guy I uh...serviced ‘fore we got together. Tried to offer me money and wouldn't back the hell off so I pushed him. He got cranky, called me a whore. Wasn't nothin'." 

Charles was quiet for a long moment and Arthur chanced a quick glance down at him. He was watching him carefully, expression soft but frustratingly neutral.   
"Thank you for telling me." 

Arthur shifted around in the sleeping bag, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

“What’s your astrological sign?”

Arthur turned to look fully at him then, confused. “You’re alright with that?”

“With zodiac signs?”

“No. With the other thing.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry that happened.” Like that morning they had met - a polite, slightly bored nod of acceptance. Wildly comforting somehow. 

“You don’t wanna talk no more about it?”

“We don’t have to. It doesn’t seem like you want to, and that’s fine. I appreciate you opening up to me.” Arthur turned his head into Charles neck so he could smile privately. It felt silly now, how worried he had been. Of course Charles would react that way. 

“I’m a Leo.”

“That makes a lot of sense actually.”

“Fuck you.”

* * *

They were eating dinner later that week when Dutch called. Charles was around more and more often, his truck a near constant fixture in the driveway. They worked on the shed, then on Arthur's truck, and hung out with John until dinner. Sometimes, Charles left Arthur to the truck and manned the shop so Hosea could go fishing. They fell into a happy little routine that made Arthur feel like he was holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Inevitably, it did.   
"Arthur, grab that for me," Hosea asked, elbow deep in gutting the fish they were going to have for dinner. He got up from where he'd been watching TV and jogged out to the bait shop. 

"Hello, _Lucky Lady's Lures and More,_ this is - !"

"Give the phone to Hosea."

"Dutch? What - ?" 

"Give the phone to Hosea, son. Now." 

"Uh, Hosea!" he called over his shoulder as a knot began to tighten in his stomach. "Phone." 

"Tell them I'll call them back!"

"It's Dutch." 

He heard Hosea stop gutting the fish and slowly wash his hands. When he walked in, his face was somber and there was fish blood wiped on his white apron. He took the phone from Arthur's outstretched hand and inhaled deeply.   
"Hello Dutch." 

Arthur stood there for a moment while Hosea took a seat on the stool. He noticed him lingering and waved him off, and Arthur went back into the house. He sat at the table with John and Charles where they'd been working on his homework.   
"What'd Dutch want?" John asked immediately. Arthur shrugged. 

"To talk to Hosea." 

"That ain't good." 

"Sure it's fine," but he did not sound convincing even to himself. 

"Who's Dutch?" Charles asked. John looked at Arthur. 

"You didn't tell him? Ain't he your boyfriend?" 

"Tell me what?"

"Mind your own damn business, John." 

"He's our dad," he said to Charles, ignoring him.

"Sorta."

"Yeah, sorta."

Charles stared at them both blankly. "What?"

"We used to live with him, all of us," John continued. "Me and Hosea left. Arthur stayed."

"Why did you leave?" Charles glanced at Arthur, a little disappointed. This should be coming from him, not John. He ducked his head. 

"I got shot," he said simply. 

" _What?"_

"Yup," John stood on his chair and pulled up his shorts to show the wound on his thigh. "Right there."

"How - ?"

"Arthur," Hosea walked bak into the room. His face was red and scrunched up - Arthur hadn't seen him so angry since the night John got the wound he was currently showing off. "Your turn. John, sit back down and put that away." 

John's eyes went wide at Hosea's tone and he dropped back into his seat. Against every piece of his body screaming not to, Arthur went back out to the phone.   
"Hi Dutch." 

"I need you home. Tonight." 

"What?"

"Tonight."

"Truck ain't done yet." 

"The truck? This is _important_ , Arthur."

"What's goin' on?"

Dutch paused for a long moment. "I can't say on here. I think I'm being bugged." 

"Is anyone hurt?"

"No."

Arthur exhaled. "Well then can't it wait - ?"

" _No_ Arthur. It can't."

"How am I meant to get there? It's already late and I have no idea when the next - !"

"Make Hosea bring you. I'd like him here too." 

Arthur did not understand what could possibly be so important that Dutch thought Hosea would come back after all this time.   
"Well what about John?"

"John? I don't know, Arthur. Find a sitter for him or something, I don't care."

"You don't _care?"_

"Oh, you know what I mean. This is really important, son. Trust me. Have some faith." 

Arthur sighed, the knot in his stomach tightening. "I don't think Hosea's gonna - ." 

"Then steal a car." 

" _Dutch - !"_

"I do not care how you get here, Arthur. Steal a car, have sex with a trucker, just fucking get here by tomorrow morning at the latest." 

"Dutch - ?" the receiver clicked off. Arthur sat back against the stool and let his face rest in his hands for a long time. 

When he went back inside, dinner was already on the table.   
"Come on, Arthur. We waited for you," Hosea gestured to the empty seat. Arthur lingered in the doorway. 

"Hosea - ?"

"Do not ask me."

"But - ?"

"I _said_ ," he looked up at Arthur. There was a sternness there he was used to seeing directed only towards John. “Do not ask me. I love you like you're my blood, Arthur, but I will not take you."

Arthur stared down at his shoes, refusing to meet Charles' worried gaze.   
"Take him where?" John asked. No one answered, and he seemed to understand. "But your car ain't fixed yet. You said you wouldn't leave till it was fixed."

Arthur didn't know what to say. His head was swimming and he felt far away from his own body.   
"I'm sorry John."

"You're such a _liar!"_ he yelled, pushing his plate off the table. Fish and sugar snap peas spilled all over the ground. "All you do is lie!"

Arthur hesitated. "I'll come back after." 

"I don't believe you!" 

Arthur didn't blame him. "I will, I'll come back and finish the truck and take you to the fair, just like you asked."

"Do not say that if you don't mean it," Hosea warned. "Do not keep making him promises you can't keep."

Arthur faltered again. He felt nauseous.   
"Where do you need to go?" Charles crossed the room to put his hand on Arthur's shoulder to steady him. "Where? I'll take you."

"Pittsburgh," he said quietly. What normally made him think of wide rivers and charming streets tasted like ash in his mouth. 

"Okay, I'll take you," he repeated, then looked back towards John. "And I'll bring him back with me."

For the first time since Hosea had gone to the phone, the worry fell from John's face.   
"Really?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"John," Arthur tried, "I already told you - !"

"I don't believe _you,"_ he spat, full of venom. 

"I promise," Charles made an _X_ over his chest. "Cross my heart."

"And hope to die?"

"And hope to die." 

Arthur packed a small book bag of clothes under John's close supervision. Where he couldn't see, Arthur fished out his gun and wrapped it in a shirt.   
"You don't need that if you're coming back," John declared as Arthur slipped on his jean jacket. "It's summer."

"I like it for the car," he said defensively, "it has a lot of pockets."  
That was true, but it was also Arthur's favorite piece of clothing. He'd sown many patches onto it over the years and had tucked countless stolen goods into the hidden pockets. He'd only brought it to Bushkill in the first place because he was afraid to leave it alone for so long. 

"I don't believe you."

Arthur sighed and sat down next to him on the bed. "I told you I'm comin' back."

"Whatever."

Arthur slid the jacket off and laid it in John's lap. "There, alright? That's my favorite thing in the whole world. You hold onto it so you know I gotta come back."

"Like collateral."

"Who taught you that?"

"Dutch."

"Course. Yeah, it's collateral." John ran his fingers carefully over the patches as Arthur zipped up the book bag and stood. "Love you Johnny."  
He didn't respond, but Arthur hadn't expected him to.

In the kitchen, Charles was helping Hosea clean up the dinner no one had eaten.   
"Be seein' you, Hosea." 

"Please be safe," he stopped scrubbing a plate but didn't look up. "The both of you." 

"We will be." 

They were walking out the door before he spoke again. "And Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

“I love you, son. I’m sorry he’s putting you through this, but please tell Charles the truth before you let him take you out there.”

Arthur looked at Charles. He was worried, visibly so, but still had that endless, impossible patience.   
"I will." 

They stopped briefly at Charles' house so he could pack a bag. Arthur followed him inside silently. He still felt far away from his body.   
"Well, this is my room," he said as he flicked on the light. It was tastefully decorated and carefully organized. Another delicate, hand woven blanket was laid across his bed. He had a topographical map of Pennsylvania framed on the wall and a picture of him as a child with his parents. Charles must have only been eight or so, a wide, cheesy grin on his face. His father was tall and handsome, wearing a dark day suit and a soft look for his wife and child. He could see that Charles had inherited his lips and jawline, and he was holding one of Charles’ hands. His mother was absolutely stunning - long, dark hair just like Charles’ own and his bright, expressive eyes. She was wearing a traditional, intricately designed frock and smiling directly at the camera, holding Charles’ other hand. He stood looking at it for a long time, but eventually moved on to wonder around the room as Charles packed. He looked over the books on his shelf, ran his fingers over a detailed wood carving of a buck.   
"Why ain't you ever bring me here?" he asked, the first thing he'd said, since leaving. Charles looked up, a little surprised at his speaking up. 

"I don't know. I haven't really changed anything since my mom died. Kind of feelings like ghosts live here sometimes." 

"Mm. Well, I like it. Like this little picture of y’all." 

"Thank you." 

The silence was pointed; a request. Arthur took a deep breath.   
"When I got picked up by CYS, I ran away all the time. No matter where they placed me, I got out and got back into street shit. Dutch grabbed me out of a knife fight with a grown man and took me in." 

Charles patted the spot on the bed next to him, so Arthur sat. It was soft. He fell onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.   
"Same kinda thing happened with John later on, 'cept he was a lot younger. Dutch said he was stealing food from a hot dog vendor." Arthur laughed a little at the thought. "He was running with Hosea then, so it was just the four of us for a couple years. It was good. Dutch had us help with jobs, course, but we were going to school near every day." 

"Jobs?"

"Yeah, jobs. We're like, criminals." 

"Oh."

"Well, not Hosea no more course. But back then, yeah. He was the best con man you've ever seen."

"Alright, go on." 

"Oh yeah. So we were goin' to school and everything, it was alright. We was workin' towards a house. A real life," Arthur exhaled a shaky breath, and felt around for Charles without looking at him. His fingers found his thigh. As always, his skin warm and soft and Arthur's breath evened out a little just from touching him. "Then we started pickin' up more people and we had to get more money. Then there was the O'Driscoll's and it all just got...messy. He had all us older kids workin' all the time for this _house_ and these _mangos_." 

"What kind of work?" 

"Little bit of everythin'. Stealin', slingin', whatever. We started rakin' it in, but it was never enough. I stopped goin' to school altogether, so of course John didn't wanna go neither. Got Hosea real mad, that's when him and Dutch started fightin'."  
Charles zipped his book bag up and laid down next to Arthur, but he didn't look at him. 

"Came out to them when I was seventeen. Wasn't no big thing, but then Dutch was saying, uh..." Arthur coughed, trying to banish the tightening of his throat.   
"Sayin' how I could make real good money doin' what I already liked to do. I wanted the money and the house and the real life. A real fuckin' life. So I did it."   
Charles didn't saying anything, just took Arthur's hand. He felt tears sliding, hot and wet down the sides of his face, but he didn't so much as stutter. He'd never said all of this out loud before.  
"It wasn't all bad. Sex work ain't everything they make it out to be. I was just so _young_ ya know? Too young. Was a while before Hosea found out. Some guy beat the shit out of me and I ended up killin' him. Came home cryin'. Never seen someone quite so mad as Hosea was that night. Screamed at Dutch till he damn near passed out, Dutch sayin' how it was only until we got a little more money. It was awful. Can I smoke in here?" he asked suddenly. He couldn't stop hearing the way Hosea had screamed _He's a child! He is_ **our** _child!_

"Oh, yeah. Sure. One second." Charles got up to open the window. Arthur waited until he was back next to him to light it.

"Anyway, turns out the guy was in some other gang. His people came around that night and did a drive by. No one got hit somehow, 'cept John. He was doin' a handstand, thank god, else it woulda been..." Arthur coughed again, but the tightening would not ease. He choked out his next words. "Else it woulda been his little head." 

Charles turned over onto his side and took Arthur up into a hug. He felt like he finally returned to his own body in his embrace. He cried in earnest then, loud and ugly into Charles' chest. He thought it was maybe the first time in years he’d thought about all of it on purpose. They stayed like that until his breathing evened, and then a little longer. He pulled back eventually, let Charles delicately wipe at his face with this thumbs. 

"Hosea and John left the next mornin'. Begged me to come but I wouldn't. I think Hosea is actually his legal guardian now, but I ain't sure. And now Dutch needs somethin' else. Think it probably has to do with these O'Driscoll's, but I ain't sure of that neither. Ain't really sure of anythin', just kinda do what Dutch says. Anyway, sure you ain't wanna take me anymore. That's fine, I get it. You can just drop me off at a truck stop or somethin'. I'll figure it out. Sure John'll understand."

Charles waited while Arthur rambled instead of interrupting him. "I'm not going anywhere," he said seriously, holding Arthur's face in his hands. 

"You probably should." 

"Well, I'm not." 

Arthur pressed his face back into Charles' shoulder and did not respond. They drove through the night. 

* * *

"Charles, wake up," Arthur shook his shoulder without taking his eyes off the road, "come on, look. This is the best part."

Arthur was driving through the Fort Pitt Tunnel at sunrise. Whether or not he'd pulled over and waited a bit for the perfect moment to really impress Charles with the view was beside the point.   
"Hm? What? Are we there?"

"Yeah," he said excitedly, pointing out the windshield. "Look." 

Coming through the Fort Pitt Tunnel there's nothing until suddenly there is everything. Over the Monongahela, the city spills out in front of you like someone had knocked over a glass of humanity; accidental, abrupt. The three rivers come together at The Point and life juts out from there - a triangle of activity that runs on and on for miles. The normally blinding sunrise was caught up in a haze of clouds and pollution, lighting up the river below them and reflecting back against all the windows of all the buildings. It was like the entire city was on fire in a soft, gentle inferno and they were diving directly into it.

"Wow," Charles said quietly. “It’s so pretty." 

"Mhm," he hummed, smiling. 

Arthur took him to breakfast before they went to Dutch's new hideout.   
"Mm," Charles murmured appreciatively, taking his first sip of coffee. 

"What do you think so far?" he asked excitedly. Despite the events of the past eight hours, being back in the city was energizing. He'd missed the strange privacy that comes from busy people and bustling streets. It felt like no one looked at you twice and there is a certain safety in it; a comfort. 

"It's a city," Charles shrugged. "How are the hotcakes?" 

"They're fantastic. What do you mean?"

"I don't know, Arthur. It's a city. Same as all the others. Are they really sweet?" Arthur made an offended noise.

"It ain't like _every_ other city. Got a lot that's special."

"How sweet are they?"

"Pretty sweet, Charles. They're hotcakes."

"Hmm," he looked back down at the menu. 

"So you don't like it?"

"I'm not a city person," he looked up from under his long, dark eyelashes. "It's crowded and polluted. I don't hate it. What's corned beef hash?"

"Sure sounds like you hate it." Charles looked at him, waiting for an answer. "It's in the name. Corned beef and potatoes and eggs. It's good, you'll like it." 

He nodded and when their waitress returned, he ordered that and Arthur ordered strawberry hotcakes.   
"Why do you care what I think?" Charles echoed the question Arthur had asked him so many weeks ago. He felt a bit bad about it now - it really put you on the spot. 

Arthur shrugged sharply. "It don't matter," he deflected, looking out the window next to them. Charles sighed and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. It took a long moment for Arthur to realize it was a gesture of impatience, it was so unfamiliar on Charles. 

"What?"

"Are we not past this, Arthur?"

"Past what?"

" _I don't rightly know, it don't matter,"_ he mimicked Arthur's drawl. 

"Ain't how I sound."

"It very much is." Arthur grunted, crossing his arms over his chest.   
"I'd like it if you tried opening up to me a little without something forcing you to."

Arthur was quiet for a long moment. More than anyone else in his life, Charles deserved that much.   
"You're right," he admitted finally. "I'm sorry, you're right."

Under the table, Charles put his hand on Arthur's knee - a silent thank you.   
"Why is this so important to you?"

"Guess I just thought if you really liked it you'd...I don't know, maybe think about potentially possibly considering uh...ya know. Comin' out here with me. To live," he finally rambled out. Charles took his time answering, finishing his coffee and wiping his face. 

"Thank you for sharing that with me."

"Yeah."

"I like you, Arthur. A lot. That's why I'm here."

"I like you too," Arthur admitted quietly, feeling his face grow warm. Charles smiled at him. 

"But I won't do that." 

Arthur exhaled. He knew that would be the answer, but the knowing did not help.   
"Yeah, alright. Figured."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"That things aren't different."

"Yeah," he said, then after a moment. "I'm sorry too." 

And he was. In another life, it would've been different. In another life, Arthur leaves Dutch with Hosea and John and never looks back. In another, Charles follows him into the city and they make some semblance of a life together. In an even farther one, they meet later in life on horseback, somewhere out west. In another, they grow up happy and safe with large families and fall into each other with nothing holding them back. But this is not any of those lives, and they are none of those people. In this life, they have breakfast together and count themselves lucky for the small amount of time they have been given. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My Arthur Morgan is a big softie for animals and doesn't like to see them hurt," I say into the mic. Everyone boos.  
> From the third row, Charles Smith himself stands up. "I'm gonna teach him to hunt oh my god"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not try and communicate Sean's accent in my dialogue you're gonna have to use your imagination

When they pulled up to the address Arthur had scribbled down the night before, he almost kept driving. The house itself was nothing special - a dilapidated, old foreclosure with boarded up windows and garbage on the lawn. It was home as much as all their other hideouts before it had been. What spooked him was Charles' warm, comforting presence next to him. Why was he bringing him into this? It was selfish. _He_ was selfish.  
Arthur parked a few blocked away in the crumbling lot of a laundromat but did not get out right away.   
"Ready?" Charles asked.

"No," Arthur chuckled humorlessly. "Thinkin' maybe you should go stay in motel or somethin' and I'll call you when it's done." 

Charles' brow furrowed. "Why?"  
There was the smallest hint of bags under his eyes from a night of fitful sleeping and driving, but he still looked agonizingly beautiful. He was wearing a long, green sweatshirt over brown pants and that same turquoise necklace Arthur realized he had never asked about. 

"You make that necklace yourself?" Charles gave him a look so irritated Arthur almost laughed. "Sorry. It's just...it's a lot. Ain't gonna lie to you." 

"I didn't drive you here because I thought it would be fun or easy." 

"What if you get hurt like John did?"

"Then it'll be my own damn fault."  
Arthur sighed, could see the determination in his brown eyes. It wouldn’t be his fault of course - it would be Arthur’s. Just like the split and John getting shot, he had a tendency to set terrible events into motion. Hosea could tell him all day long it wasn't his fault, but it would never change the fact that if Arthur had acted differently none of it would have happened. He said a silent prayer to a god he had never really believed in that this was not one of those times.   
"I'm coming," he asserted, getting out of the truck without waiting for a response. Arthur followed silently. 

They walked to the house and went around the back. Arthur made Charles stand behind him and knocked softly. The sun was beating down high and confident in the sky and the air smelled like hot asphalt.   
"It's me," he called out, just in case. A few seconds later the door flew open and Tilly grabbed him up in a hug. 

"Arthur! I can't believe you came!"

"Course I did." He hugged her back tightly. Past her, he could see into the new hideout. It was pretty clearly an old drug den - the copper wiring was ripped from the walls and the hideous, green carpet had cigarette burn holes - but Dutch had draped his silk tablecloth over the table in an attempt to class it up. 

"How did you get here so fast?" she pulled back to look him over, searching for some indication of distress before noticing Charles. She was wearing her hair in long, precise box braids that faded from black to plum near her waist, and had her eyeliner winged to accent the shape of her eyes. No matter where they were staying, she somehow always managed to look stunning. "Dutch said - oh, hi. Who's this?" 

"This is my, uh...this is Charles. He brought me." Tilly's face, which scrunched up in suspicion, fell to relief. 

"Thank you so much, Charles. I'm Tilly." 

"Nice to meet you, Tilly," he smiled at her and she flustered. 

"Yeah, you too. Well come on in! Javier is going to be so - !"

Just as they entered, a pair of feet thundered down the steps.  
"Arthur!" Javier exclaimed. They looked like they were going to hug him too, but paused on the landing when they saw Charles. Javier put on a mean look and jutted out their chin towards him. "Who's this?"

"This is Charles," Tilly introduced. "He brought Arthur." 

"Okay. Why is he still here?"

"Javier - !" Tilly tried to scold, but they talked over her.

"You wanting money or something? You shouldn't be here. Why did you bring him?" they asked Arthur. It was a valid question - he hadn't warned them he was bringing someone and they generally didn't live a life where you invited people inside for doing you a favor.

"Uh," Arthur started stupidly, trying to rifle through every consequence of whatever he chose to say. Charles put a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed. 

"I'm his boyfriend."

"Oh." There was a long silence where Arthur reached up and touched Charles' fingers in thanks. "Okay. Sorry. Arthur has never...brought someone home." 

"It's okay." 

"Where's Dutch?" Arthur asked. 

Javier shrugged. "Left last night after he got off the phone with you."

"So what are we meant to be doin' then?" Arthur huffed when they merely shrugged again. 

"We know about as much as you do," Tilly said. 

"I don't know nothin'."

"Yeah."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He felt an embarrassed blush rise in his face, afraid to even look at Charles. He'd made him rush like a bat out of hell just to arrive and Dutch wasn't even here.   
"So we drove all through the night to get here and _wait_ for him?"

“He’s gone a lot of the time anymore,” Javier admitted softly. Arthur looked to them and it hit him all at once that here was his best friend - the person he’d abandoned, left to manage the aftermath, probably scared and unsure. He closed the distance between them and wrapped Javier up in his arms. It took a moment, but eventually they hugged him back.   
“You’re getting soft,” they whispered, but there was relief in their voice. 

Arthur laughed and pulled back, clapping a hand on their shoulder and shaking it a little. He’d missed Javier more than he realized. They wore their shoulder length, brown hair a little messy - a lazy, ambivalent style only they could pull of. Their septum ring was off center and they were only wearing one earring. He'd missed all his friends more than he had realized, felt overwhelmed by how happy he was that they were here, alive and in front of him. 

“Where’s Karen and Sean then?”

”Still sleeping, I think.”

”Well, shit. Y'all need anything done 'round here?"

They did of course. Arthur and Charles, with some very occasional assistance from Javier, spent the day doing chores. Most of the lights needed "rewired" - a task that Charles insisted was more of Arthur putting in a new bulb and taping it up against the ceiling so it sat in the one position where it would turn on. Arthur called him nitpicky.   
He told Charles he didn't need to help, that he was already doing too much, but he wouldn't hear of it. So together they sealed new plastic over the windows, covered holes in the ground as best they could, and brought up a working fridge from the basement. It wasn't home improvement exactly. Arthur had always thought of it more as patchwork; glueing the frayed edges, putting in new stuffing, trying to make it last one more day. Upkeep to try and prop up a lifestyle that was ultimately slipping through their fingers. 

At one point, they were trying to drill Tilly's door back onto the hinges so it didn't just sit uselessly against the doorframe. Charles was holding it while Arthur tried to get in a screw with his multitool.   
"I like this."

"Huh?" Arthur looked up from where he was crouched, a screw sticking out of his mouth. Charles was watching him with a fond smile. 

"I like this."

"What, the view?" Arthur sat up straight on his knees and rested his chin on Charles' upper thigh. 

"Shut up," he laughed, "I'm trying to say something nice to you."

"Go on, then." 

"I like working with you - building that shed, doing these little projects. I like doing them with you."

Arthur's heart swelled in his chest and he couldn't help smiling up at the other man.   
"So sweet you're gonna rot my teeth out," Arthur murmured into his thigh then stood up to kiss him. When he touched the hair at the base of Charles' skull, it was warm and sweaty and Arthur thought about how romantic work could be when it was together and tangible and fulfilling, and for those you love.   
"I like it too."

"I like it three," an Irish accent rang out from the steps. Arthur rolled his eyes and knelt back down to his work. 

"What do you want?"

"Quite a way to greet your mate after _months!"_ Sean walked up to them and held his arms out to take the door from Charles. "Here, let me. You're Charles then?"  
Charles nodded and carefully handed it to Sean who promptly dropped it, ripping out all the screws he had managed to get in. Arthur exhaled a long and deeply aggravated sigh.   
"Whoops."

"Real good work there, Sean." 

" _Sorry!_ I didn't realize how heavy it was! Your boy's a hulk."

Arthur wasn't sure if the small hint of pleasure on Charles' face was from the compliment or being called Arthur's _boy_.  
"It's good to meet you, Sean. I've heard a lot about you."

"Surely nothing good. Ya know you're the first one Arthur has brought home to us?"

"So I've been told."

"He's quite the catch, isn't he? Look how handy he is!" Sean teased as Arthur looked around for the screws that had flown out the wall. 

"He sure is handsy."

Sean barked out a surprised laugh and Arthur looked up, wounded.   
"Charles..."

"Sorry baby."

"You're a funny one. Mind if I borrow our friend here for just a moment?"

"Of course."  
Charles leaned down and kissed Arthur on the head before he went downstairs to give them some privacy. Sean picked up the door again and held it flush against the frame. 

"He seems nice."

"He is," Arthur began working the screws back in. "How you been Mr. MacGuire?" 

"Oh, you know. I'm always alright," he laughed, but it was strained. Arthur looked up at him again. He was paler than usual, and he was already a pretty pale guy. His fiery orange hair that he used to wear long and slicked back was close cropped to his head. His eyes were a little bloodshot. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," he dismissed. "Not me I'm worried about."

"Who then?"

"Dutch." Arthur hummed, picking up another screw. "He's just been acting strange."

This in and of itself was not news. Arthur had been watching Dutch slowly decline ever since Hosea left. He'd gotten careless and a little desperate, but he was still Dutch.   
"How do you mean?"

Sean shrugged, shifting under the weight of the door. "He leaves a lot and is gone for a long time. Like now, none of us have any idea where he is. Karen tried to ask him a few weeks ago and he flipped out. Said we needed to 'have faith' in him. We've all been on the streets more and he's getting real paranoid. I dunno, Morgan. You're missed is all, sorely missed."  
Arthur ducked his head - guilt hot and wet in his stomach. He had always been the one who weathered the brunt of Dutch's tantrums, who talked him down.   
"I know it's probably lovely out there," Sean continued, "with Hosea and little John. I know you aren't back for good right now but just...just hope you _will_ come back for good. Soon." 

Arthur hesitated. "Course, Sean. Really won't be much longer."

"Alright," he said after a moment. "Good to hear. Guess we'll have to find a pretty big cot for your lug down there," he tried to joke. 

"Charles ain't comin' with me."

"Huh?"

"He ain't leavin' Bushkill. He has a life out there. A _real_ life," he added. 

"Oh," Sean thought for a minute while Arthur stood to start on the top hinge. "What you're just gonna leave him out there?"

Arthur and Sean had never been particularly close. He liked the redhead well enough, loud and reckless as he could be. But he'd joined only a few months ago and almost immediately fell in with Karen. He didn't whore and Arthur spent most of his time with Tilly and Javier, so they had not had many conversations of depth. Arthur shrugged defensively.   
"He don't wanna live here, what you want me to do?"  
Sean didn't respond and Arthur finished the hinges. It was not sturdy - would not hold up against being slammed or kicked, but it was functional as a door.   
"Ha! There we go." 

"Where'd you find him, anyway?"

"Charles?"

"Yeah."

"He kinda found me." 

Night came and Dutch still hadn't returned. They ordered pizza and played a game of cards but the rest of the evening was stretched out in front of them, empty.   
"We could do mushrooms?" Javier offered. 

"Eh, it's too gross in here, I'll freak out," Tilly said. 

They were laid out on their backs in a circle, heads all pointed in. This close, Arthur decided the carpet was so ugly it was borderline hostile. 

"We could go out," Karen suggested, passing the joint to Sean. 

"What if Dutch comes back?"

"It's too late already. He never comes back after dark." 

Arthur hummed, turning his head to look at Charles. "Well, that might be fun. What you think, wanna go to a gay club?"

Karen pulled out a special bottle of rum for them to drink while they got ready. She crimped her long, blond hair and teased it until it was more like a mane with a pink streak in it. Her white babydoll tee exposed her pierced bellybutton and she wore boots and fishnets under a black leather skirt. Tilly had gone with this little powder blue slip dress and lipstick of the same color, and her sneakers were perfectly white. Javier and Sean had dressed quickly as they always did. Sean wore his clothing oversized and lazy, his huge t-shirt stained and his plaid pants tight only at the ankle. Javier on the other hand just dressed well naturally. Their black jeans and black wingtip shoes were flawless despite the general griminess of their lifestyle. They had a white bandeau bra on under their leather jacket and wore their hair in a low bun, pieces falling to frame their face. They were letting their mustache grow out a little and wore a single earring - a dangling, silver cross.   
"You look nice, Javier," Charles had said absentmindedly when they came out. Arthur looked at him and Charles raised his eyebrows. Javier noticed, a delighted smile spreading across their face. They hooked an arm over Charles' shoulder and looked at Arthur. 

"What, Morgan? Worried I'm gonna steal your man?"  
Arthur grumbled something unintelligible, going back to looking for his eyeliner. He heard the loud _smack_ of Javier kissing Charles on the cheek.   
"Well thank you anyway. Your little friend is so rude." 

"Alright, alright," Arthur said over his shoulder. He knew he was being goaded but he was _so_ very easily goaded. "That's enough." 

They laughed and released Charles, who smiled down at Arthur devilishly. "Jealous?"

"Hush up. That what you're wearin'?"

"Yeah. What, is something wrong with it?"   
Charles had on a cream colored, stripped button down tucked into his jeans, but it was buttoned so high you couldn't see his necklace. He had on a brown vest and his work boots, the only shoes he'd brought, were a little muddy. 

"No, no! You look nice," he stood, eyeliner in his hand. "Can I just fix it a little?"

Charles eyed him suspiciously. "Alright."

Arthur removed the vest and unbuttoned his shirt several buttons. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and pulled his shirt from his pants until it was a French tuck.   
"Why don't you braid your hair? Looks nice when you braid it."

Arthur had just buzzed the sides of his head for him the other day, so the braid Charles did was accented against his skull. Arthur tugged on it gently to loosen it and straightened his turquoise necklace before he stepped back to admire his work.   
"There. You just looked a little...straight." 

Charles had rolled his eyes, but he smiled when he looked at his reflection.   
"I like it."

"Good, you look real sexy," Arthur said, the rum loosening his tongue a little. Charles looked him up and down slowly, drinking him in. He was wearing black jean shorts that sat about mid thigh and a cropped _Harley Davidson_ shirt. He had on Charles' earrings, his black boots, and knelt down to use the mirror to put on eyeliner. 

"Can I have some?"

Arthur looked up, surprised. "Sure. Come here."   
He sat Charles on the floor up against the couch and straddled his lap. "Look up," he said softly, cupping Charles' jaw to keep his face steady. Charles obeyed, holding onto Arthur's hips. He leaned in close, drawing carefully into his waterline and pressing his pelvis down gently. Charles wanted to fuck him like this, he could tell - could feel it in how his grip tightened and his breaths grew a little shallow against Arthur's cheek.   
"Bein' real good for me," he exhaled so quietly he knew not even Sean at the other end of the couch would hear him. Charles hummed, dipping his pointer finger into the waistband of his shorts to rub his hip bone. Arthur leaned back to look at him. 

Charles' face had an intensity to it that Arthur struggled to recreate in his drawings. His features themselves were rather soft - a round chin, full lips, a wide nose - but still that intensity. It was exaggerated with the darkness smudged under his eyes. He looked mean and severe and Arthur was suddenly very aware he was on his lap and his finger was tucked into his waistband.   
"What?" Charles said, a cocky little smile on his face.

"If you're gonna fuck can you at least go upstairs?" Sean asked, looking over at them. Charles laughed, a little embarrassed, but Arthur was considering it. 

"Karen, how long until the bus comes?"

She glanced over at one of the bus schedules on the side table. "Shit, like three minutes." 

Arthur looked at Charles and tipped his head, a question. 

"You're ridiculous," he laughed, leaning up to kiss him before gently pushing Arthur back off his lap.

"Suck his dick in the bathroom like everybody else," Javier said, herding them all out the door. 

They caught the 54 just in time and crowded into the back section. They were laughing and carrying on, the harsh bus lighting that tinged so many of Arthur's memories bathing all their faces. If anyone threw a dirty look their way, they quickly reeled it in upon seeing how many of them there were. Arthur had _really_ missed this; had really missed his friends. The strength in their numbers but also their loud, fearless natures. Their confidence and their laughter, and the way the streetlights melt into each other when you're drunk and the bus is speeding down the road.   
When Charles looked over and smiled at him, sharing a joke with his friends and earning their laughter, it felt so right. He belonged next to this man. Belonged next to him on public transit and on back roads, in rivers and in gay clubs. It hurt a little, that knowledge. Arthur looked away. 

The club was packed for the drag show going on in the back room. Arthur let the bouncer draw a black _x_ on his wrist to let the bartender know he could drink, and relished in the way Charles took his hand as soon as they stepped inside.   
"Let's go it's about to start!" Tilly urged, grabbing Karen and pulling her towards the back. 

"You coming?" Sean asked over his shoulder. Arthur had stalled at the bar with Charles. 

"Y'all go, we'll catch up."  
Arthur ordered them both a drink and watched his friends disappear into the crowd. On the stage, a spotlight came on and a _Dolly Parton_ song started playing.   
"How you feelin'?" 

"Good!" Charles smiled, nodding along to the song. "This is fun." 

"You ever been somewhere like this before?"

"No," he looked down the bar at the other patrons. Arthur watched a man meet his gaze, admiring him openly. Charles' eyes widened and flew back to Arthur, surprised. "I didn't know this existed." 

Arthur smiled widely, handing Charles the drink he bought for him.   
"Well, congratulations." 

They ventured out onto the dance floor and had a few songs together, breaking occasionally to get another drink. Charles was a little nervous at first, unsure of how to move or where to place his hands. But it was so crowded and so loud that soon it was just them, pressed hot and close against each other, reveling in being able to touch in public. Even with his nerves, Charles did not misunderstand when Arthur took his hand and led him to the bathroom.   
They crowded into a stall and Arthur had barely locked the door before Charles grabbed him. The kissing was sloppy - drunk and open-mouthed and desperate. Charles pushed him up against the wall, gently rolling his hips against Arthur's erection. He felt his face grow red and dreamy with desire, but when he went to touch Charles he was soft.   
"I'm too drunk," he mumbled, dropping to his knees to undo Arthur's shorts. 

"Hey," he said sharply. Charles looked back at him, confused. "If you're too drunk we don't gotta do nothin'."

"Just meat for me to...ya know," he laughed a little, pulling Arthur out of his underwear. Drunk Charles was uninhibited in a way that drove him crazy. "Not too drunk for this." 

Arthur's words melted into soft sighs as Charles took him in his mouth. It had taken him some time to get used sucking dick, but he was getting pretty good. He knew just how to use his tongue to make Arthur curl over, fist tight in his hair and moan loud in his throat. But for Arthur, it wasn't even really about that. It had more to do with Charles himself - stunning, broad, steady Charles, staring up at him with his dick down his throat. 

After, they took a minute to catch their breath and fix their clothes before leaving the stall. The bathroom had remained pretty empty, but there was someone leaning against the wall when they came out.   
"Arthur," the man purred as Arthur approached the sink. "Didn't know you were back."

Clyde was an older, slimy redneck type. He had taken a liking to Arthur a while ago and he paid well so Arthur usually indulged him. He wasn't good looking, but it was easy money. 

"I'm not," Arthur said simply, washing his hands. Charles gave him a questioning look that he ignored. "I ain't workin'." 

"Sure sounded like you was workin' in there." 

"Hey man, I said no," he glanced up at him through the mirror. He was bald and drunk. Arthur had run into him here several times, but he almost never turned him down. 

"C'mon," he said, pulling a fifty dollar bill from his pocket. 

Arthur knew it was dumb to get angry in that moment. Clyde, if a sleaze, was his best customer. But he was also drunk and Charles had a concerned hand on his lower back and now he knew how much Arthur charged and the type of men he usually fucked and he felt hot embarrassment flood his face. He turned and plucked the money from Clyde's hand, crumpled it, and threw it into the stall.   
"Shove it up your ass."

Clyde's eyes narrowed, mouth twisting into a mean snarl. He grabbed Arthur's wrist.   
"Ain't that your job?"  
Charles' fist hit him so quickly that Arthur hadn't even pulled his hand back yet. But Clyde's grip loosened immediately, his body falling against the wall and sliding slowly down.   
" _Fuck_ man!" Clyde cried out, holding his face. "What the hell?"

"I think he said no," Charles responded, frighteningly calm even in his fury. 

"Why do you care about this trick - ?" Charles stepped on his hand. "Fuck! Okay, I'm sorry, Jesus!" 

Charles removed his foot and took Arthur's shoulder to guide him out of the bathroom. He was swallowing against the hot, shameful tears threatening to drip down his face and let himself be lead to the porch. It was still crowded, but the music wasn't so loud.  
Charles directed him into the corner of the railing and stood between him and everyone else. He created a private little world there for Arthur to calm down in, walls made of Charles. It was such a tender act it almost overwhelmed him.   
"I'm fine," he said, lighting a cigarette and leaning back against the rail. And he was - that was not a new interaction. The only new thing was Charles, gentle eyes trained on his face. 

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

Charles looked at him for another moment. Patient, waiting for honesty. Arthur wanted to give it to him - give him the genuine and enduring vulnerability he deserved, without having to be forced to provide it. But what was the point? Their days together were numbered and he wanted to live in Charles' memory happy and beautiful, not crying on a bar porch.   
"Let's go find them, huh?" he suggested, stubbing out the rest of his cigarette. Charles looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end he stood back and let Arthur walk away from him. 

They enjoyed the rest of the performance all together. The queen, Faye Latio, was gaudy and fantastic and Arthur was surprised to see Charles, wide eyed and smiling, loving every second of it. He should really stop being so surprised, he thought. Charles was happy and fun and openminded - had proved that to him time and time again. Arthur wondered if back when they first met, if Charles would have been able to see himself here: getting a lap dance from a drag queen and putting $1 bills into her bra. 

Back at the house, Charles forced him to drink a bunch of water and they had to brush their teeth from the faucet in the bathtub. By the time they stumbled back into his room, Arthur was exhausted. They somehow managed to get comfortable together on the cot; Arthur spooned around Charles, facing the wall so Arthur was between him and the door. He pressed his face into Charles’ hair and almost instantly drifted off, he was so comforted by the smell of his tonka shampoo. The sound of Charles rummaging through something roused him.  
”What you doin’?”

”Oh,” he said quietly, and the rummaging stopped. “I thought you fell asleep. There’s a box over here.”

”Probably just my stuff.”

Instead of settling back into him, Charles leaned over the side to peer into the box.  
”Can I look through it?”

Arthur paused, his tongue teetering over _no_.   
“I guess.”

Charles pulled the box closer and settled onto his back, nearly pushing Arthur off the cot entirely. To stay on, he slotted himself even closer to Charles, his face pressed into his neck. He pulled out a framed photo first.  
”When was this?”

Arthur opened his eyes to find Charles’ face turned towards him, waiting.   
“You gonna keep me up for this?”

”Mhm,” he nodded, his nose bumping against Arthur’s in the motion of it. He sighed.

”Few months after we picked up John.”

The picture was from a disposable camera he’d pickpocketed off some tourist. It had only had a few shots left, and John had to beg them to take a picture together. They were standing shoulder to shoulder - Arthur, Dutch, Hosea, and John. Arthur had just gotten to the age where he felt self conscious of his appearance, so Dutch had his fingers jabbed into his side, tickling him to get him to smile. Arthur’s eyes were closed in laughter, but Dutch had his chin jutted out. He wore only the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, trying to look serious and cool. John had his fingers stretching out his mouth, tongue hanging out like a feral dog. Hosea was the only one smiling normally - he looked happy, if a little exasperated. It had been at the Arts Festival, and when Arthur got it developed some other family was in all the other photos. He made four copies of their portrait, one for everyone, and threw the rest of it away. He thought he had maybe the only surviving copy - the only relic from a time long since gone.   
“You were just a kid,” he said softly. “That must be Dutch then?”

”Mhm.”

Charles replaced the frame and pulled out an old journal, stuffed to the brim with random papers and news clippings. It was a log of their work he’d kept for a while before he realized it was dumb to leave a paper trail.  
”Best not go readin’ that one.”

”Why?”

”Ain’t gonna like what’s in it.”

Charles hesitated like he was going to disregard the warning before he put it back in the box.  
”What’s this?” he asked with a laugh, pulling out his worn, black gambler’s hat.

”My dad gave it to me ‘fore he got arrested that last time. Don’t rightly know what to do with it, but I don’t wanna get rid of it.”

”You could wear it?”

Arthur scoffed. “I’ll look like a goddamn cowboy.”

”Could be a good look on you.”

”Hush up,” he said, taking the hat from him and tossing it back onto the ground. “Let me sleep now."

”Alright, alright,” Charles turned back onto his side and let Arthur wrap himself around him again. He was almost asleep when Charles spoke again.  
”This is where you’d expect me to live?”

”Hm?”

“If I’d said yes about coming to live with you.”

”No, no,” he said even as he felt himself falling asleep. “We’d have our own apartment and six dogs.”

” _Six?_ ”

”Mhm.”

Arthur felt more than he heard Charles’ quiet laugh. “Sounds like you’ve thought about it.”

”Have. Plenty.”  
Charles pulled his hand up to kiss his knuckle and finally fell silent. 


	8. Chapter 8

“What do you mean he brought someone?”

Dutch's voice was loud as he ascended the stairs. Arthur shot up, awake immediately. He could hear the anger in his heavy footsteps. 

"What's going - ?" Charles mumbled just as the door opened. Dutch stood in the doorway looking annoyed and uncharacteristically disheveled. His gray suit was wrinkled and his tie was loose around his neck. His black hair, professionally dyed to stave off grays, was pushed haphazardly away from his face. 

"Arthur who the hell did you bring? This isn't a got-damn _party!"_

He felt Charles sit up next to him but didn't look away from the older man.  
"This is Charles. He drove me."

Dutch looked over at him. Charles stood up and squared his shoulders, mouth pressed into a hard line. Arthur wished he wouldn't. Dutch stood up straighter but was still several inches shorter than him. Tilly was standing behind him.   
"Well _Charles_ , I certainly appreciate you bringing Arthur home but you can head on back to Bushkill now."

"No."

The vein in Dutch's forehead throbbed. "Excuse me?"

"Alright, alright," Arthur finally found his agency, standing and putting his hands up. "Let's just calm down. Dutch, why did you need me out here so bad?"

He didn't respond, eyes still locked on Charles. But Charles didn't look so serious - mostly he looked tired.   
"We need to talk in private. Tilly, show our guest...I don't know, some other part of the house." 

Tilly waved him over but he paused at Arthur's side. Charles put his hand on his neck, warm and safe, and looked at him carefully.   
"It's alright," he said quietly, acutely aware that they were being observed. "Won't take long."

"Alright," he followed Tilly out and down the hall. Dutch watched him go, but Charles never looked down to meet his gaze. 

Once they were gone, Dutch pulled the door shut forcefully. Arthur didn't mention the gaping hole in it.   
"Better start talking, son." 

It was strange to be standing in front of Dutch again. Especially _this_ Dutch - angry and disorganized and explosive. What used to stir an unwavering confidence in Arthur now made him nervous.   
"Charles brought me when he didn't have to. Wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for him." 

"You trying to tell me you didn't _do_ anything for him? For the ride?"

Arthur's lip curled at the implication. " _No_ I did not. Didn't even have to ask, he offered."

"What do you mean offered? How did he know in the first place?"

If his friends hadn't told him about Dutch's paranoia, he would've thought it an innocent question.   
"I told him."

Dutch laughed humorlessly, looking up at the ceiling. "So, what? Now you just blab about our business to every pretty boy who looks your way? No wonder we got raided."

"It ain't like that!"

"Then what _is_ it like?"

"Charles is my..." Arthur huffed, feeling childish about the word. "He's my boyfriend. Brought me cause he cares about me."

Dutch's shoulders sagged, his anger fading and being replaced with exasperation. "Your _boyfriend?"_

"...Yeah."

"Arthur," he sighed, moving across the room to sit on the cot, "what are you even saying? Is he gonna stay here with us? Join?"

"Nah."

"Well then I do not understand how he's your boyfriend. You don't live in Bushkill. You live here."

"I know." 

"Then what are you doing?" he motioned for Arthur to sit next to him, so he did. Dutch's hand felt cold when he put it on the back of his neck. "It's like I told you before - don't give away for free what people will pay for. You don't need a boyfriend, we need _money._ That's why I needed you down here so bad." 

Arthur looked up with a start. "You said it was an emergency!" 

"No I did not," Dutch asserted quickly. 

"You made it _sound_ \- !"

"Arthur, come on," his hand tightened on his neck, "you know thinking isn't your strong suit. Let me do that. I told you that you were needed here, and that was the truth. I'm so happy you came."   
Maybe Arthur hadn't heard him right after all. Now that Dutch said that, the memory felt a little fuzzy, a little hard to pin down.   
"You were probably so worried and you know I love that about you, your big heart. But your brain isn't so big. Just let me make the calls, and do what I say, alright?"

He had forgotten this feeling. He didn't know how, maybe it was willing ignorance, but he had forgotten how it felt to drown under Dutch. He could push back but it was never worth it. He knew in the end Dutch would get angry, and Arthur would give in and do whatever he wanted just to smooth things over. He always did. Arthur's wants were small compared to Dutch's. He knew if he just held his breath and pushed through it, he could ignore his own discomfort or pain and avoid the confrontation. 

"Alright?" Dutch asked again. Arthur's mind felt fuzzy. He nodded.  
"Good, good." He got up and crossed the room. "Charles? Come on back up here, son." 

A few moments later, he reappeared. The cold on the back of Arthur's neck melted away at the sight of him, worried as he looked.   
"Yes?"

"Go on, Arthur. Tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"That you want him to leave." 

Charles raised his eyebrows and moved to walk towards Arthur, but Dutch put his arm out to stop him. "You're okay right there." 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Charles' anger, rational and steady, was in stark contrast to Dutch's.   
"Is that true Arthur?"

"No," he said quickly, because it wasn't.

" _Arthur!"_ Dutch hissed. 

"Arthur?" 

Arthur thought it would be okay if no one said his name ever again. 

"What did we just say? I make the calls, remember?" Dutch said. 

Charles didn't try to hide the disgust that crawled across his face at that. "He can think for himself." 

"You stay out of this," he shot back. "This is your fault to begin with. He never acted like this before he went out to the boonies and forgot who he's loyal to."

"I ain't forget," Arthur said quietly, despite himself. 

"Then tell him you want him to leave." 

"I'm not going back without him." Charles pushed past Dutch's arm and sat back down next to Arthur. "I'm not. I promised John."

"What are you talking about _going back?_ He's home. There is no going back."   
They both looked at Arthur. 

"Promised John," he finally said. He felt like such a coward letting other people fight over him. But Dutch made all his words freeze over in his stomach before they could ever make it to his mouth. Before, it was just easier to swallow them down. But he couldn't do that now, not if it meant losing Charles.   
"Gotta be back for the fair."

"The _fair?"_

Charles put a hand on his knee and it steadied him a little. He exhaled and looked Dutch in the eyes - he looked wild. 

"Yeah. The county fair. We promised John we'd take him." 

"John is a child. He'll forget." 

"He won't. He didn't forget nothin' from before." 

Dutch ran his hand through his hair like he might pull it out. His annoyed exhale sounded like more of a growl.   
"Who cares! He's just some kid, he's not even your real brother." Arthur flinched at that, but Dutch didn't seem to notice. "Him and Hosea left us, they are dying to forget about us. Let them. We only got our own."  
When he didn't respond, Dutch approached him. He patted his head in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, ignoring Charles.   
"You're my best gun, Arthur. I need you. Tilly, Javier, Sean, Karen. We all do." 

Arthur felt like he'd just stepped off a carnival ride. His stomach was in his knees.   
"When's the job?"

"Tonight."

"Fine. Then we gotta leave."

"Of course, of course," Dutch softened immediately once he had what he wanted. "Gotta take little Johnny to the fair. I wouldn't have it any other way."  
Arthur wanted to say that thirty seconds ago, he didn't seem to care about John at all. He wanted to say that neither he nor Hosea were dying to forget about him. He wanted Dutch to hug him and say everything was alright, that he loved him and wasn't angry. He wanted to leave with Charles right that moment.   
"Then you'll come back to us, huh? You'll come home?"

Arthur wished he had a different answer. 

"Yeah."

Dutch left them alone after that, but Arthur didn't have the guts to even look at Charles. He felt cold and tired so he put blankets up over the windows to block out the sun, but he didn't sleep. He laid down on the cot and put a spare shirt over his face to make it finally dark enough for him to calm down. He concentrated on breathing and thought about nothing for a long while. Charles didn't say anything the entire time. He laid down next to Arthur and played with his hair or rubbed his arm, small soothing motions that made him feel less foggy. It took a little while for Arthur to regroup, but Charles never complained. When he felt like he was back in his body again, he pulled the t-shirt off his face.   
"I'm sorry."

"You're okay," Charles said quietly. "Don't worry." 

Arthur did not deserve this kindness. He did not deserve Charles.   
"I'm sorry," he repeated. 

Charles shushed him gently and pulled him into a hug. Arthur held him tightly.

Later, he went down to the basement to check everyone's guns. It was a monotonous task that he thoroughly enjoyed, so he was irritated when Sean came down to join him.   
"Need some help?"

"Not really," Arthur said gruffly. Sean ignored him, picking up one of the weapons. 

"Heard you fighting with Dutch."

Arthur looked up at him sharply. "Mind your own damn business."

"Kinda difficult without doors.”

"Try harder."

"You're really just going to break up with him to come back here?"

Arthur huffed, rolling a bullet between his thumb and forefinger. "Why are you so worried over it? Ain't none of your concern." 

"I know."

"Then stop bringin' it up." 

Sean was silent for a moment, the only sound the occasional _click_ of ammunition being loaded.   
"Just wanting to take back what I said before." 

"What do you mean?"

"About you coming back," Sean looked at him, face uncharacteristically serious. "You should stay out there with him - with Hosea and John."

"Oh, don't be tellin' me what to do," he tried to brush off, moving to turn away from him.

"I'm serious, Morgan. You should get out while you can. Got a real shot with someone who loves you."  
Arthur ducked his head at _love,_ a word he was afraid to even dance around when it came to Charles.   
"Was selfish of me to ask ya to come back."

"Well luckily my decision don't depend on your go ahead," he huffed. "And it's already made."

"Don't be dumb. We all want it - the house and the family and the life - don't squander it just cause you're a stubborn bastard.

He didn't respond and eventually Sean went upstairs. The basement was cold, fully underground with no windows to speak of. It was encased in several feet of concrete like a coffin sealed so the body could never really return to the earth. Arthur kept working.

* * *

It was midnight and Arthur was laying on his back in someone's boat. He had his gun loaded and rested carefully against his chest. Somewhere nearby, Javier, Sean, and Karen were doing the same. The light pollution from the buildings buried all the stars and Arthur found himself thinking about laying on the mountain with Charles. The sky had been full to the bursting. Here, it was big and dark and endlessly empty.   
The O'Driscoll's waiting for the shipment were already dealt with, their bodies weighed down with cinder blocks in the Monongahela. Soon, a few small boats filled with thousands of dollars of unmarked bills would dock. Arthur figured they would be outnumbered, but they had the element of surprise. He heard a low murmur of confused voices, the sound of wood bumping against wood, and took a deep breath. By the time he sat up, the O'Driscoll's knew something was wrong. Even still, he killed two men before they managed to start shooting back. Three other guns began going off from the boats around him. They were a little less skilled than him, but still effective. It was over in under a minute.   
They gotten out from cover and approached the boats when a body rose, it's shaking hands. Four guns were trained on him immediately. It was unnecessary; he wasn't armed.   
"Please," he sputtered, spitting someone else's blood out of his mouth. "Please," he repeated, because there was nothing else to say. Arthur hesitated so Javier shot him in the head. 

They began grabbing duffel bags and tossing them back onto the dock. They crinkled and were a little lighter than he thought they would be, but then he heard sirens and they were running. Sean had hesitated, moving to grab just one more bag.   
"Leave it Sean!" Arthur shouted over his shoulder. 

"I got it Arth - !"  
The bullet that hit Sean came from across the river. He did not scream, made no noise at all except for when his body hit the water with a sharp _slap._ Arthur stopped, nearly dropping the duffel he was carrying.

"Sean," he whispered. Part of his skull was still on the boat. He could tell - the hair was bright red. 

"Arthur come _on,"_ Javier had doubled back to grab his arm. "We have to go!"   
Arthur let himself be pulled into running again, but he was not processing his surroundings. He followed Javier's ponytail until someone was shoving him into the car.   
"Go, Dutch. Now!" they command and Dutch did not need to be told twice. The car skidded onto the road and Karen was shouting. 

"Wait, wait! Sean's not here!" No one spoke. "We have to go back, the cops will pick him up!"   
Dutch made eye contact with Arthur through the rear view mirror. He shook his head. Karen's eyes grew wide.  
"What? No. He's fine, I just saw him. I just saw him. We just have to go back, it's fine, we just - !"  
Arthur grabbed her arm and pulled her down to hold her. At some point, her protests turned to wails. He held her tighter and buried his face in her hair. 

By the time they'd driven around long enough that Dutch was sure they weren't being followed, the car was silent. Karen never lifted her head from Arthur's chest, not even when they parked. As carefully as he could, he lifted her from her seat and carried her inside.  
Charles and Tilly were both sitting at the kitchen table when they walked in, but Charles stood when he saw them.   
"Karen," Tilly gasped, rushing towards him. 

"She's alright," he said quickly, and then amended it. "She's not hurt."

"Then what - ?"

"Sean."

He heard Tilly say _oh my god_ and fall back into her chair as he laid Karen onto the couch in the living room.   
"Karen?" he knelt down next to her. "Can you say something?"

"Not right now," she whispered. Her eyes were vacant. Arthur straightened up and she stood after him, walking towards the back of the house. He heard the door close and then a long and sickening silence.

There was precious little they could do in the aftermath. They did not have Sean's body or any way to retrieve it without giving themselves away. If he had any family that would care to know, none of them were aware of it. He would be cremated by the city and stuck in a mausoleum somewhere. Arthur dug a hole in the backyard of an abandoned house that didn't even belong to them and they buried Sean's _hat_ like it meant fuck all. No one said anything and Karen did not even come outside.   
The sun was rising when it was all said and done. Arthur had barely gotten any sleep the past few days and his eyes were bleary when he walked up to Charles in the living room. He never complained, but Arthur knew it was time to go back. This was never a place Charles could belong, he saw that now.   
"What happened?" Tilly finally asked from her seat on the floor, leaned up against the painted over fireplace.

"He got shot. By a cop, I think. They got there so fast." 

"And you're sure he...?"

"Yeah. Positive." He heard Dutch and Javier come in from the car, dumping a few of the duffels on the living room floor and sitting on the couch.

"What happened?" Dutch asked. He looked frazzled and his face was pale. "Who shot him? Didn't you get all the O'Driscolls?"

"Came from across the river. Think it was a cop, thought I heard sirens."

"How did they get there so fast?"

Dutch was looking at him like he expected an answer. Arthur shrugged. "How should I know? We killed the boys that were there first real quiet. Maybe they were listenin' for us to start shootin'."

"How many were there in the first place?"

"Four?" Javier estimated. "Then six more on the boats."

"No, was seven on the boats." Charles winced at the figure and Arthur felt vile next to him. 

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that last one. Seven."

"That isn't enough people for something like this," Dutch mused. "He's got a lot of men. Why wouldn't he send more?"

"You think he knew?"

"Don't know how he would," Dutch looked at each of them with narrowed eyes. "But it seems that way. He could've tipped off the cops. He would love to see me arrested."

"Well then why - ?"

Arthur heard the sound of Dutch's car door shutting and the crunch of tires over gravel. The back door of his Buick made a very specific noise - a high pitched squeak leftover from the time Arthur had run his bicycle into it. Without thinking, he grabbed Charles' arm and pulled him onto the ground with him in the same instant that bullets began firing in through the windows. Charles cursed and they fell together, Arthur putting his body over his against the hail of glass of ammunition. It only lasted about thirty seconds before heard tires squealing off. Charles was under him and he was bleeding.  
"Shit, shit, shit," Arthur panicked, searching for where it was coming from. "Fuck, Charles, are you - ?"

"I'm okay," he grunted, pressing his hand against his bloody shoulder. The relief that hit Arthur was so intense it nearly knocked him over.

"Let me see," he demanded. They had been the only ones standing - everyone else had jumped safely to the ground. He nearly vomited at the realization that they had been aiming for Charles.

"I think it just grazed me."

"I'll get the kit," Javier said, scrambling up and into the kitchen. Arthur put pressure on his shoulder until they got back.

"I'm really okay."

"Hush up."

Together, he and Javier cut away Charles' shirt and cleaned the wound. It really was shallow - a graze barely deep enough to leave a scar. They bandaged it as best they could and Arthur finally let him sit up.

Dutch had run outside as soon as the shooting stopped. He stormed back in, his face bright red, but Arthur wasn't looking at him.  
"I'm so sorry Charles," he whispered.

"I'm okay," he said again.

"They took all of it," Dutch announced. "There were four bags left in the car. They took them."

"Can I get you some water?" he asked Charles, using his own shirt to wipe away some of the blood still on this arm. "Tilly, you alright?'

"I'm fine," she said, brushing glass from her shirt. "You?"

"I'm fine."

"I said," Dutch repeated, looking at Arthur, "they took four of the bags."

"Okay?" he huffed. "Should've gotten them out of the car quicker."

This had been the wrong thing to say. Dutch glowered at him.

"Here," Javier said, trying to mediate. "Let's just see what we do have. Still should be..." their voice trailed off as they opened one of the duffel bag, brow furrowing in confusion. 

"What?" Arthur asked.

"It's not - ?"

"How's it look?" Dutch leaned over Javier's shoulder to peer into the bag. "Real clean, huh?"

Arthur stood from the where he was knelt down next to Charles and crossed the room. The duffel was filled with cocaine. Javier picked up one of the zip lock bags and shook it. 

"You said it was _money!"_ Arthur said, kicking the bag. Anger flooded his mind without warning. Fury over Dutch, over the money, over Charles' safety, over Sean's body and the way it had fallen into the river. 

"Careful," Dutch warned. "It is cash. We can get this flying out of our hands faster than we'll know what to do with!" 

"That's not...I did not come out here to sling cocaine!" 

"It won't be for long, calm down. Yinz'll get out there and get rid of it and we'll be on our way to Florida in no time!"

"Sean is dead!" he shouted in Dutch's face. A fire grew behind his father's eyes. "Charles almost got shot! For cocaine! What the hell is wrong with you?" 

"Do not," Dutch roared, hand grabbing up the front of Arthur's shirt, "tell me how to lead, son."   
He dragged Arthur towards him. He grabbed Dutch's arm, trying to maintain some distance between them, but Dutch's face was right in his.   
"You need to have some goddamn faith for once - !" 

"That's enough," Javier appeared behind Arthur. They reached around and forcefully uncurled his fist. Dutch pulled his hand back like he'd been burned, glaring at the two of them. He looked for a minute like he might keep yelling, but eventually turned on his heel and stalked from the room. 

"Get everything together. We need to move."

When he left, Arthur turned back to Charles. He was standing up, his shredded shirt barely hanging onto his torso. There was blood in his long hair.  
"Here," he ushered him into the kitchen and made him sit at the table. He wet a towel and began wiping at the blood as the others packed up the house.

"I'm okay," he repeated, looking up at him. Arthur ignored him, wiping and rinsing out the towel until the water ran clear and Charles was clean. 

"I'll get you a shirt," he mumbled, going to his box upstairs. He grabbed a big t-shirt but hesitated before he went back downstairs. Without thinking, he grabbed the rest of his money, the framed photo, and his father's hat and stuffed them into his book bag.

As he was going back downstairs, he noticed Dutch’s door was ajar. He could see his record player and his double wide cot. He listened closely, heard Dutch out near the car, and went inside.   
His room had always been a place of comfort for Arthur. No matter where they were, Dutch always set it up exactly the same. It had always been a place he could go when he couldn’t sleep or wanted to talk. There were pictures on the wall of Arthur and John and Dutch’s first wife Annabelle. His cologne was in a bottle on the dresser and Arthur picked it up and smelled it. Despite everything, it comforted him. When he went to put it back down, he noticed one of the drawers were open and there was a silk cloth in it. Arthur glanced around before he moved it. There was a small, thin tube of glass with one charred, round end. Arthur inhaled sharply and tried to put it back exactly as he found it before he flew down the stairs. He didn’t have the capacity to think about that right then.

"Here," he said to Charles, handing him the shirt. "I'll take your bag to the car."

"We leaving?"

"Yeah."

"Already?" Javier asked from the doorway. He looked up at them - they looked exhausted and sad and Arthur was reminded again that he had abandoned, was abandoning, his best friend.

"I'm sorry," he said, because there was nothing else to say. They didn't respond, merely drifted past him and out the back door.

The drive home began silently. Arthur had insisted on driving, wanting to keep his mind occupied. Charles wouldn't have it, saying he was too exhausted and needed to calm down. They'd fought briefly about it before Charles finally yelled,  
"My shoulder is fine and it's my car! No!"  
So now, they were driving in silence. Arthur was blisteringly embarrassed - for the tantrum he'd thrown over driving and from having roped Charles into this entire situation. And even still, he couldn't get the image of Sean out of his mind. Couldn't stop thinking about how if he hadn't grab Charles right when he did, that he would be dead. Arthur rolled down the window to smoke his third cigarette in the hour they'd been on the road. 

"Are you hungry?" Charles asked eventually, passing a sign that listed what food they had off the next exit. They hadn't eaten, but Arthur was nauseous from the past few days. Eating would probably help. He shook his head.   
"Well I am." 

"Why'd you ask then?" he grumbled into the wind. Charles didn't respond. 

Arthur waited on the curb while Charles went into the sandwich shop. He had his arms rested on his knees, staring out at the cars on the highway. When he came back out, Charles took a seat next to him without a word. He started eating and the smell punched Arthur in the gut. Charles caught him looking.   
"Want my pickle?"

Arthur nodded and they ate together in silence.   
"Sorry," he said eventually. 

"I know. It's alright."

"Nah, it ain't." 

"It's not your fault."

Arthur scoffed. "Course it is." 

"Hey," he said seriously, "that wasn't your fault. None of it." 

"Shouldn't have roped you into this in the first place. Was wrong of me."

"I offered to - !"

"Not _this,"_ he gestured vaguely around them. "Me. Should've have roped you into _me."_

Charles fell silent. On the highway, a sixteen wheeler thundered by, drowning out every other sound.   
"Is that really what you think?" he asked quietly. 

Arthur heard the hurt in his voice and his stomach twisted into a knot. He didn't look up, afraid of seeing it in his eyes. He shrugged.   
"Yeah."

Charles was quiet again for a long time. So long that Arthur dared to glance over at him. He looked angry - mouth pressed into a hard line, but his eyes were wet.   
"So I'm just some bumbling hick - ?"

"Charles - !"

"No," he said sternly. "I'm just some straight, bumbling hick that you tricked into caring for you?"

"No...”

"I care for you on purpose. You're not some great enigma the way you think you are. I know you, and I care for you _on purpose."_

Arthur sighed. "What are we doin' here Charles?" he asked quietly, looking down at the cement. 

"What?"

"What are we _doin'_ here? I'm leaving in what, a few weeks? Maybe less?"

"So?"

" _So?_ Sean died last night for no goddamn reason. You could’ve died for _no goddamn reason_! Just cause I don't have the guts to keep my head down. Same thing with John. Should've never came back into his life just so I can hurt him again and again. Ain't no nice way for this story to end for me. Least I can do is not drag other people down too." 

"It could end nice for you," Charles said quietly, his anger subsiding. "It could, if you'd let it."

"What do you mean?"

"If you stayed in Bushkill it could be real nice."

Arthur sighed. "Charles - ?"

"We can get six dogs if that's what you want. I think that's a few too many but if that's what you want, we can do it. I'll build you a little studio and you can sell your drawings at the market with me. They're good enough, they really are. We can go to the Harvest Festival in October and take John sledding when it snows. It could be real nice, you and me."

Arthur swallowed against the lump in his throat. He wanted it so badly that it ached deep in his chest. He tried not to look away from Charles even though he felt like crying at the hurt he in his face.   
"You don't want that." 

"Don't tell me what I want." 

Arthur put his face in his hands. "I can't. I want to, more than anything, but I can't. _That_ was my life and my family. I can't just walk away from them." 

"What about John and Hosea? They aren't your family?"

"That's different, they're better off without me. Dutch needs me." 

"Dutch - ? Arthur he is not your responsibility."

"He _is._ Same as Javier and Tilly and Karen. They're my family, and Dutch saved my life. I'd be dead without him." 

"They're all adults. They can leave if they want to."

Arthur laughed humorlessly, wiping at his eyes.   
"And go where, Charles?" he found himself shouting. "They ain't got a Hosea to run off to. No money, no family, no nothin'. I should just leave them so the same thing that happened to Sean can happen to them?"

"What if that happens to _you?"_

"I'll be fine, that don't matter."

"It matters to me." 

Arthur didn't look up from the concrete. Someone's car had leaked oil all over the asphalt and it reflected iridescent in the sunlight.   
“See, that’s what I’m apologizin’ for. I ain’t sayin’ you’re dumb or straight or nothin’ like that. I...I care for you too,” he glanced up at Charles and felt that care, that love, deep inside him. If nothing else in his life was true, that was. “So much. On purpose. But I always knew there wasn’t no other endin’ for me. Wasn’t fair to fall in with you, not when I knew that all along.”

Charles wiped at his face, his lunch forgotten on the sidewalk. He sighed - a sad, resigned noise.  
”Well I’m glad you did anyway.”

Arthur didn’t respond for a long time except to take half the sandwich when Charles offered it to him. He devoured it and, surprise, felt better. 

"What's this mean?" he asked eventually. 

Charles shrugged. "For us?"

"Yeah."

"I want to enjoy these last few weeks with you, if that's all there is." 

Arthur took Charles' hand. There was a strange kind of pain in his chest. More than bittersweet - a shade of deja vu. He had stood here before, at this very crossroads. He’d made the wrong decision then, too. 

"I'd like that." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if you felt like Dutch was a little out of character, I based him more heavily on my mom than I did the actual RDR2 character  
> \+ I made him a yinzer because I’m a chaos entity

**Author's Note:**

> This work is finished! It is just unreasonably long, so I am going to post it in parts. No idea how many parts it'll end up being, I am uploading them as I finish typing them up.  
> I used some real names, but the Bushkill I have created is just that: created. Never been there, no idea what it looks like/if it's even a "town" like I have described.


End file.
